Our Great Conscience
by KaviNagisa
Summary: In a universe where Son Gokou and Vegeta are worshipped as gods, a storm brews on the horizon that threatens everything their friends and family hold dear. But sometimes it is the evil within that is the most dangerous enemy of all.
1. Chapter 1

Just after the Passing of Son Gokou, intergalactic marauders arrived on Chikyuu to capitalize on the absence of the planet's ultimate hero. Led by the remnants of Gokou's band of fellow warriors and offspring, the War lasted ten long months. Finally, Earth's forces claimed victory. The descendants of Gokou and Vegeta are now worshipped as Gods, while his closest comrades are men of universal influence and power. Chikyuu itself has been consolidated from many nations into one sovereign conglomerate, led by the Chikyuu-jin Council of Peace. 25 years after the Passing, the Oracles of the Spirit proclaim this with surety:

Son Gokou shall return.

"Are you positive this is what you saw?"

"Yes," the data miner's tongue lilted with the slightest accent. "Your Grace's new surveillance drones were adjusted to 5.25 Kelvin, mach 8, 0.2941 millisecs. I believe the image was taken outside one of the moons of Arjun."

"The War Planet...Tell me, why do you think the other satellites didn't pick up anything?"

He shifted in his chair. "Well, there are no shortage of theories. Most of the analysts on site believed that the signal itself could have been the product of 'interstellar bouncing', the phenomena of-"

"Reverberating signals that we ourselves have sent out distorted by light years of interference."

"...That is correct, Your Grace. Seeing as though the Arjunsei-jin have been cooperating openly with our established military installments so far, no one seems to think it is any 'secret rebel base'."

"Especially since...no one else saw this image but yourself."

"Yes, Your Grace. Per your orders."

"You were educated as part of Capsule's exchange program. Am I correct?"

"Yes Your Grace. I am Movahr, CCID #05T77."

"Where are you from, Movahr?"

"I...was raised in the North Quadrant, but my mother was from Madran."

"Madran. Hm."

Movahr accepted the warm cup of tea handed to him. "After closer examination of the time signature and the sheer size of the artifact, I decided to remote jockey the drones myself and see if I could get a better idea of...exactly what it was since we were sure it wasn't just a phantom signal."

"And that is when and how you took these pictures with your adjusted settings. Very good. Where are the pictures?"

"Here," Movahr slid the chip across the table. "These are the masters, Your Grace, also per your orders."

"Thank you."

Silence.

"You are dismissed, Analyst Movahr of the North Quadrant. Your superiors will be briefing you concerning your active duties."

"Will I be returning to Arjun, Your Grace?"

"...I will leave that in the hands of your commanding officers."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"And thank you again, Movahr, for your service."

The door slid open, then closed again.

"How do you know he isn't lying about sharing the images?" Juunanagou stood staring at the data miner through the one-sided mirror as he spoke.

"He isn't," Yamucha stopped his jaunt from the room to stand beside the cyborg. "The drones themselves have already been erased and recommissioned, and Arjun media have already released our statement about surveillance testing in the area."

Juunanagou motioned towards Movahr. "And him?"

Yamucha ignored Juunanagou's question, instead electing to insert Movahr's data chip into his handheld comm. Both men's faces were illuminated in the darkness by the screen's contents. Yamucha's expression didn't change, but his jaw bulged with clenched teeth. The cyborg raised his head, brow drawn and eyes wide.

"Your Grace?"

Yamucha silently removed the chip, crushing it in his hands. His cape swirled behind him as walked out to the hangar's lift.

"Prepare my departure for the West Quadrant in the morning."

"Yes, Your Grace." Juunanagou bowed, and his head darted behind him towards the hapless data miner once more. "And him?"

Yamucha was already in the lift, doors closing as he spoke.

"...We don't let him leave."


	2. Chapter 2: Along With the Dance

"You're not eating."

Pan looked up from her meal. Trunks was smiling, sawing off a piece of filet held in place by his fork. She hadn't noticed the dish had arrived.

"I'm sorry. I'm just a little tired."

"Ah. The trip from the Outer is long," Trunks lifted the fork to his mouth. "But at least you had company, right? How are Krillin and his bunch?"

"Good. Marron's children are getting bigger by the day."

Trunks was still smiling, his blue eyes sparkling. No matter where she was or what she was doing, those eyes always overwhelmed her. She returned with her own grin.

"That's wonderful. Maybe that is a sign that we should work on making our own."

Trunks and Pan had been married in the South Quadrant in what used to be called Satan City. Millions attended, and according to the state press almost every person on Chikyuusei had watched it via commlink. The most highly publicized event in history. The sacred rites alone took up three days. And she had smiled, waving to the crowd alongside her new husband. _All part of the program,_ she told herself. _All part of the dance._

"Krillin was telling me about how many uplinks it took to air the ceremony in the Outer."

Pan lifted her spoon to play on her plate. "Capsule Corp was able to handle it sufficiently, I take it?"

Trunks chuckled. "Surprisingly. We've been working on a couple of new data languages to avoid the bouncing."

"...'Bouncing'?"

"It's a new phenomena that's giving our satellites and observational drones a little bit of trouble," He paused to look down at her pushing vegetables around in a circle. "You're really not hungry at all, are you?"

"...I had a little bit to eat earlier." Pan lied. "Plus, I'm still not used to all of...this."

She gestured with her arms to the spread of space around them. The cathedral-sized dining hall was bathed in white, blue, black, and purple. Their families' colors intertwined to show their new matrimony. Trunks looked around as if he saw nothing, then returned his eyes to her, his smile waning.

"I see. That's because you remember a simpler time."

"I just don't think it is healthy to pretend to be something we are not."

"Pan, I know. But you remember what happened after your grandfather left. Don't you?" Trunks lowered his head. "After Baby and the Dragons, humans didn't trust anything or anyone. Not even each other. Technology was too dangerous, magic was too dangerous...people were dying in the street from want of basic medical care. And the moment we would try to help them? They would chase us from the cities. Whatever makeshift government they could form tried to pass laws to control us. They were afraid of us. They would have been glad to have lived in darkness and their own waste forever."

"But they didn't," Pan whispered abruptly. "The Arjunsei-jin came and brought the War."

"...Right. The War." Trunks held a glass to his lips. "The War that we won."

Pan didn't reply. She turned to the expanse of the window as Trunks sighed.

"We didn't ask to be deified. It just...happened. And we all agreed that it was the best thing at the time. To just...go along with them."

_Along with the dance,_ Pan said to herself.

"Well," Trunks had finished the last bit of his filet and tossed down his napkin. "I have to get some work done eventually."

He stood up from his seat, and seeing the quick approach of the servobots and attendants, leaned down to give Pan a chaste kiss on her hand. He began to walk away.

"Trunks?"

Trunks did a complete turn on his heel. "Yes, beloved?"

"Do you think my Grandfather is ever coming back?"

Trunks paused. Then he smiled. "Why should he? We don't need him right now, do we?"

And he left his wife alone.


	3. Chapter 3: Ballads

"So let's review together, everyone. Master Avari, tell us about the Arjunsei-jin."

A tiny boy with orange skin stood from his chair.

"The Arjunsei-jin are a space-faring race whose evolution predates the birth of our sun. Their skin is olive-green, and their eyes are large and built for nocturnal activity. This is because the Arjunsei-jin were once cave-dwellers."

"Very good. Mistress Jenkonovich, when did the Arjunsei-jin establish their civilization?"

"Around 02 A.D." Another softer voice. "Soon after they experienced a series of civil wars. Finally, one of the tribes took power and bred the others out of existence. Once technology was bestowed upon them by traveling merchants in exchange for rich Arjunian soil, the Arjunsei-jin began their expeditions into outer space—as well as their aggression towards other planets."

"And this is how they amassed their wealth and massive armadas, correct? Master Jacobs?"

"Yes. The Arjun Menace became known to all of the universe, and after the Passing of Our Divine One into the Realm of Dragons, they set their sights to take Chikyuu. Our defenses and weapons were no match for their warships, and they were poised to invade Chikyuu and bring doom to us all."

"Exactly. And then what happened?" The tutor paused, then smiled at the anxious faces around her. "Anyone can answer this one."

A smattering of voices, ringing with exuberance.

"His Holy Lord Son Gohan, Firstborn of the Divine, raised his head and cut through the ships as a sword does through water!"

"The Children of the Divine One became glorious lions and devoured the enemy with golden light!"

"With their Earthly Attendants they purified the sky. And the Arjunsei-jin withdrew in wake of their pursuit." The tutor finished. "After ten long months the Scourge were all but dead. People everywhere rejoiced."

A soft chime sounded in the classroom, the open-roof square that was used for lessons when the weather was nice enough. The tutor looked around, flustered.

"Ah, lessons are over for today. Students, do not forget your assignments," She was already talking above the clamor of chairs sliding on tile. She waited until the noise calmed. "Let us conclude with prayer."

"Our Divine One, the Son of Light, Lord of the Dragon Realm, Great Protector, Guide me and keep me from my enemies, grant me the power to recognize my standing and work towards my full measure."

"May Our Divine bless you," The students chimed together.

Teacher and pupils bowed to each other, than the noise began once more as the children moved from the square.

"Something so recent, to already have a ballad and prayer..." Bra turned from her balcony overlooking the courtyard.

"Part of the entire ballad," her servant, a slim dark-haired girl much younger than her charge, set a snifter of wine beside her. "The rest of it features My Lady and Her Lord Brother rather prominently."

"Do tell," came the bored reply. "At least they didn't bother with the whole thing at the wedding ceremony. That business went on too long as it was: A three-day affair."

"People are still legally celebrating Lord Trunks and Lady Pan taking their vows. Your Lord Brother declared it a holiday three days ago."

"I wonder how he is doing, after all of that is finally over." Bra walked towards the opposing end of the balcony, touching the laurel tree leaves overhead.

"My Lady Goddess can ask for herself," the servant quipped, smiling. "Lord Trunks, Son of the Throne, will be coming here to West Castle to visit his Lady Sister. Two days from today..."

The servant's words trailed off as Bra turned to look at her askance.

"My Lady, I was just informed about this-"

"Tell him that I await his arrival." Bra turned away again.

"Yes, My Lady Goddess."

"And Hana?"

"...Yes, My Lady?"

"Just because someone of distant acquaintance to my family spat you out into this world doesn't mean you will be treated any certain way." Her words were paper-thin, razor-sharp. "I advise you to keep jubilance separate from duty."

"Yes, My Lady Goddess," Hana replied, voice soft.

A pause. Then, "You may take your leave of me for the day. And entertain yourself how you see fit."

Hana looked up from the floor. Bra looked as if she was unclenching her teeth, and her lips morphed into a small smile. "You may use my wardrobe, transport, and study for the evening. Keep your guests to a few."

"My Lady Goddess blesses me," Hana grinned and bowed.

Bra looked down at her chair. "Hana?" She picked up a small envelope. "Where did this come from?"

Hana's eyes widened. "I...I didn't see that one before. My Lady has no other messages save what I've already given."

Bra arched a brow, then nodded. "You may go."

Hana bowed and whisked around the corner gate. Bra looked after her, pulling the package open until a tiny shred of paper fell to her feet. Turning her attention quickly down, she picked the scrap off the floor. A baffled frown cascaded down her face at the paper that read:

** 05T77**


	4. Chapter 4: Does Any Soul Have Cause

Another weed ripped up from the stone base. Dirt scattered all around, smacking her in the face like shrapnel. Ascending the hill, a young man swung books from his carrier back and forth as he walked.

"You there! Old woman!" He smiled as he stopped, his eyes going upward on the statue with suddenly faded joy.

The crone did not turn, nor stand to her feet. "What do you want?"

"...What are you doing?"

Her shaggy, tangled gray tresses shifted as she looked up at her task. "What does it look like I'm doing?" she snapped.

"You are cleaning...this statue? This statue is-" he broke off. Clearing his throat, he uttered, "Does any soul have cause to attend this shrine? You could tend to the ones closer to the temple."

"...'Does any soul have cause'...Do I 'have cause'?" The old woman's voice sounded as if she was spitting when she used the phrase. She planted both hands into the earth, finally turning to set upon the visitor with cold blue eyes.

"Yes, I have cause! If I am the only one, I have cause!"

She turned her back again, the younger of the two craning his neck with an expression of blank shock at her actions.

"No one cleans this statue. It's small and easy to attend but no one..." She paused to grunt with the effort as she pulled another plant, its roots grown deep. "...And they spit on it as they walk up. Like you. They throw their trash, they even throw things to stain it. Like it's some sort of game."

The visitor looked to his path ahead, anxious to escape. "I wish you well on your charge, old one."

But she didn't hear him. She was muttering to herself more than anything. The visitor continued up the hill to the columned building at its summit.

As he reached the entrance, he yelled, "Greetings! I wish to pay tribute to the Goddess today!"

"Welcome. And I hope those books mean that you aim to do more than pray for success," Gohan walked down the steps, a friendly grin on his lips.

"My Lord Firstborn!" the young man exclaimed, going on one knee to bow. "I did not expect to be greeted by you, Holy Lord! May the Grace and Power of the Divine continue to bless me!"

"The temple keepers are eating lunch," Gohan, ignoring the overtures, calmly guided the man back to his feet. "Come, the altar is this way."

The two walked into the expanse of the marble hall, where the shrine awaited. Her stance swayed, as if in the winds of the waves depicted around her. The carved contour of her hand was outstretched, palms upward and containing the cosmos. The visitor clasped his hands, and went down on both knees.

"Mother Goddess Bulma, Wife to the Throne and Keeper of the Seas, Wisdom and Knowledge Infinite, Please guide my mind this day and every day forward."

Gohan edged closer as the young man ended his prayer. "Examinations?"

"Yes Lord Firstborn," the visitor sighed, holding up his books. "I wish to join the military as a intelligence consort."

"Those who report directly to the Chikyuu-jin Council? The tests are extremely difficult."

"Which is why I hope the Mother Goddess will help me in my studies," The young man said, smiling.

"Perhaps you could seek help here. We have the best facilities available here on the Western Quadrant." Gohan beamed, eagerly looking over his books.

"Yes, of course! I will find tutors in the next few days. Surely My Lord Firstborn knows of them...Although I wonder what interest you would have in such people. Intellectuals are not made for battle and glory."

"...Of course not," Gohan looked away. The visitor bowed deeply.

"With your blessing, My Lord, I take my leave."

Gohan nodded, eyes still averted.

The visitor turned as he neared the temple steps. "There was an old woman, My Lord, that I saw cleaning the statue of Satan the Deceiver."

Gohan's gaze returned to the young man. "...Was there?"

"I don't know why anyone would bother with that. The only reason it's even standing is because it was removed from the Southern Quadrant and put here. But still..." The young man bowed again, and walked away.

Gohan's eyes looked old and weary. He turned and walked into the shadows of the Altar of Knowledge.


	5. Chapter 5: In Vain

"Hey. Hey..."

A woman's deep, flirty laugh. Wine flitted from the man's breath.

"I have a joke for you."

Another chuckle, deep in the throat. The woman's chest heaved upward. "Yes, My Lord?"

"There are two women walking on a road. And they both see a traveler."

"A traveler, My Lord?" A rustling of cloth sliding on the bare skin of a leg.

"Yes. And he says to them..." Her giggle interrupts him, and he restarts. "He says to them both, 'One of you is destined for great riches. Wealth beyond your dreams. The other will be eternally beautiful.' And the women asked, 'Which of us will be forever beautiful?' And do you know what the traveler said?"

"No, My Lord."

"He said, 'There is only one way to know for sure.'" He leaned forward and whispered into his companion's ear, earning her loud laughter. The chamber door opened.

"My Lord Second-born...His Holy Lord Trunks, Son of the Throne," an attendant announced.

Goten looked up. Trunks entered the room, smiling.

"Only a crocodile smiles that much. Particularly when he's about to eat," Goten said wryly.

Trunks, his face still tight with his unreadable grin, looked at the young woman beside Goten.

"Out."

The woman bowed, eyes downcast, and quickly slid from the sofa and out of the door.

Goten laughed. "I could get one for you, if you want. Or are you still in 'wedded bliss'?"

Trunks sucked his teeth in reply. Goten slid Trunks a glass of wine on his bed stand.

"So what do I owe the honor of your visit, nephew?"

Playing into the bantering tone, Trunks picked up the glass. "Recently there was a problem on Arjun. Security breach by a data miner named Movahr. Domestic communication surveillance tracked his CCID back to Chikyuu."

"Okay," Goten picked up a fruit. "And where is this Movahr now, and what did he do?"

Trunks was silent. Goten grunted with a dark chuckle. "Never mind. I don't want to know."

"We are sure his data traveled to the West Quadrant, but my analysts suspect that it passed through here," Trunks explained. "Movahr was from right here in the North Quadrant."

"So you think that whatever he did, he had help...or whatever he found he sent back here somehow."

"Yes. To the latter, anyway,"

Goten let out a sigh. "Information exchange and traffic of data. Isn't this Yamucha's department? Why don't you let him handle it?"

Trunks took another swallow of wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You know that I don't trust him. Not as much as I trust you."

Goten looked Trunks over for a few seconds, biting into a fleshy apple.

"There was some chatter," Goten stretched, placing his free arm behind his head. "I think what you're looking for may have already exchanged hands. I sent my men on patrol near the Western border. My guess? Whatever they have they're looking to put in a safe place. One that's not under surveillance."

"...West Castle."

Goten shrugged, grinning. "What safer place than right under one's nose?"

"Gods, why were you so evasive about this?" Trunks finally found a chair free of clutter and planted himself, spilling a little of his drink.

"Oi. Don't take your own name in vain."

Trunks snorted. Goten put his feet up on a nearby stool. He tossed his apple's core into a corner.

"Don't be mad at me. I thought Yamucha was handling things like this. I just wanted to stay out of the way." Goten looked over at his guest. "Are you staying the night and heading to West Castle tomorrow?"

Trunks nodded, looking out of the window.

Goten smiled, and clapped his hands twice. And from every entrance to the chamber, women walked in. They were all colors, height, races. And all beautiful.

Trunks looked at the group, then looked at Goten, barely hiding a grin.

Goten pointed to the gathered women. "You," A brunette with milky white skin stepped forward. Goten looked back at Trunks.

Trunks let his eyes sweep the woman from her toes to her face. "Take off your clothes," he said.

The petite brunette did as commanded. Goten snickered like a naughty child.

Trunks smiled fully, and motioned for the woman to come to him.


	6. Chapter 6: Promises

"Yes, of course. I look forward to attending."

Krillin pressed the console button and ended the conference call. As he did, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His gray hair was pulled back, and glasses settled before eyes that had seen too many horrors and bore so much loss. But the glasses hid those things. Thankfully. And he was still alive. Still kicking, he said to himself. He only needed the cane half the time, and that was only because the doctors at Capsule's Satellite University of Medicine hadn't caught the degenerative bone disease in time to stop some loss from occurring.

"Who was that?" The soft voice behind him snapped him back to the present.

"Oh, it was one of the intelligence consorts from the council. Confirming my attendance at the annual 'Cultural Informational Dinner Gala'...or whatever."

"Where is it going to be this time?" Juuhachigou walked up behind her husband. She touched his back with one hand—one of her only gestures of affection. It was so telling of her character, Krillin thought, that she never had to do anything more.

"Colony Eight, probably. Yamucha wouldn't dare have it on Arjun, and we can't afford having the Serulian Parliament complaining about the length of the trip to Chikyuu."

"They are asking too much of you. They always do." Juuhachigou noted, with worry.

"I may be old, but I can still be of some use. If it means helping out the kids-"

"'The kids'...that you are referring to are adults. Have been so for a while," his wife reasoned, almost pleading.

"...I made a promise, Juuhachigou. To him. I made a promise."

He grabbed his cane, and walked out without another word.

"My Lady Goddess, Your Lord Brother Trunks, Son of the Throne."

Bra turned from her work. "Hello, Brother."

She walked over to Trunks and kissed him ceremoniously on the cheek. He took her hands in his and looked behind her.

"What are you doing over there?"

"Sorting the latest samples of herbs gathered from Arbatsu-sei," Bra walked back over to the table. "As soon as they are properly identified they'll be sent to Med Advancement."

"They're keeping you busy," Trunks noted, looking around for the nearest chair.

"It's good...along with the tutors that use the libraries here, it's hard for me to find a free moment these days."

"Good. The worst hands in the world are ones that are idle."

Bra paused at Trunks' choice of words. She reached over to pull more bagged samples from her table.

"Will Gohan be helping you with this project? Just curious," Trunks continued as he sat.

Bra's body language didn't change, her back to her brother. "No. Why would he come here?"

"He comes here often, doesn't he? To help the tutors plan lessons?"

"Yes, he has been here a couple of times in the past to do that, so I'm told," Bra still didn't turn around. "West Castle is rather large, dear Brother."

"And the grounds, at your insistence, have no surveillance system in place. So how would you know for sure if he's coming or going, or what he's doing?"

Bra finally stopped working. Her brother was standing right behind her.

"You're lying," he whispered in her ear, almost mocking her.

Trunks' breath rustled through the fly-aways in Bra's hair. Her eyes went wide with what he said next.

"You think that I don't know?" he continued. "Hmm? Your little secret?"

After a tense silence, Bra spoke. "What do you want, Trunks?"

"What I've always wanted, Bra: Your happiness." Trunks, his sister in tow, walked back over to his seat. He guided her to sit beside him.

"I've known for a long time, Sister, why you were in such opposition to the marriage. But it doesn't matter—what's done is done. Now there is something coming that could change everything. How we live. How you live. And you know that we can't let that happen."

And with that, he slid a book-sized console towards Bra.

"What's this?" she asked, hesitant.

"It is a writ of permission for me to question the servants of West Castle. Including your personal attendants."

"Some of my servants are children, Trunks," Bra began. "They have nothing to hide from anyone..."

"I have some of the best and most courteous agents on hand. So we will see." Her brother smiled that cold, unfeeling smile again.

"...Trunks, please..."

"We can let my men do it, or Yamucha can come and he will send for Juunanagou. And you know how Juunanagou 'questions' people, don't you?"

Bra stared at her brother, her eyes bright and wet.

"After something like that happening at West Castle...I'm pretty sure Gohan wouldn't want to come here again. For any reason," Trunks murmured.

Her blue eyes fell over the balcony and to the square, where one of the local farm hands and his son swept dead leaves off the courtyard tiles. The servant's upward glance met hers, and along with his child, he smiled and bowed to their Lady.

Dejected, she turned and placed her palm on the console screen. Trunks put his hand over hers, pressing more firmly. A soft beep, and the computer confirmed the hand print signature.

"I'll be on my way, then," Trunks said, pulling the console away. "My team is already en route, and I'm late for a meeting."

Trunks gave his sister a quick kiss on her head and left the chamber. Bra knew she was alone. But still, her hands were closed in white-knuckled fists.


	7. Chapter 7: Like A Virus

"Was the trip back unpleasant?"

Yamucha shook his head, taking his seat across from Trunks in the expansive office.

"I see you're not in the mood for small talk, so I'll start. I've already begun the interrogations at West Castle."

Yamucha examined his nails, nonchalant. "What have you found?"

"While no one has come forward, we have narrowed down the list of persons of interest to less than 15. This...movement...is more wide-spread than we thought."

"Things like this always start with a few and then spread like a virus," Yamucha spoke as he looked out to the cityscape. "What worries me is how easily they got the information from Arjun in the first place. Internal databases showed no signs of compromise."

"And what worries me, Yamucha, is that you told me the insurgency and the leaks would stop after the wedding." Trunks said, frowning.

"Trunks, public dissidence off Chikyuu has decreased drastically. Even the Serulians and the Farolians are on board now."

"I was prepared to challenge them and their accusations. I was prepared for a lot of things," Trunks began pacing in front of Yamucha. "Being pressured into a politically-motivated marriage was not one of them. This was _your_ idea."

"...Pan needed to be brought back into the fold. Neither the Council nor foreign dignitaries will challenge the words of any Son family member. You wanted an end to discord—I simply thought we could do it without bribes and without our fists."

"Hmh," Trunks stopped, pourimg two glasses of water at his desk.

"How is married life treating you, by the way?"

"What do I look like, a child molester?" Trunks asked, his voice harsh.

"She's not a child anymore, Trunks," Yamucha admonished. "She's old enough."

"She doesn't seem to be enjoying her new life...anymore than I am." Trunks said as he plopped down behind his desk.

"...Well, we tried to set up Bra and Goten, but...that didn't go over so well. With either of them." Yamucha remarked dryly.

"All of this discussion does not address the problem at hand," Trunks set down his glass. "What more have you found off of Arjunsei's moons?"

"Nothing new of note, just more garbled signals."

Trunks exhaled in frustration. Yamucha stood, finally taking his glass.

"Trunks, this is why we need to capitalize on you and Pan as soon as possible!" he whispered with urgency.

"'Capitalize'? She won't have anything to do with me...and even if she did, I couldn't possibly..." Trunks made a face of disgust.

"Just close your eyes and pretend she one of your mistresses. Just do it."

Yamucha circled the desk to stand beside the younger man.

"The joining of the two Families. A child of the Throne and the Divine," Yamucha leaned into Trunks' ear. "That baby will be the_ true_ Return...So even if he really does comes back, it won't matter."

Trunks, bemused, turned to look at Yamucha.

"...This has been your Endgame all along, hasn't it?" he grinned slowly, eyes narrowed into slits. "I'm impressed. Now I know what my mother saw in you."

Yamucha afforded his charge a tiny smile in response. It faded quickly, as the older man turned his eyes back to the world outside.


	8. Chapter 8: Q&A

_Author's note: I just want to take a moment and say thank you to everyone who has been reading my story. It's not the traditional DBZ fanfic...I started out writing this on the DBZ Fanfic Salon, a wonderful site that I invite you to visit. I love the people there. So, this chapter has a tiny, TINY bit of suggestive stuff at the end (allusion to an intimate encounter.) So be aware if you're reading this at work, at school, etc. Hope you enjoy._

Goten leaned against the balcony, looking over the smattering of people below. The banquet, referred to by the Chikyuu press as the Semi-Annual Interstellar Cultural and Informational Dinner, was the latest installment by the Chikyuu Council to spread good relations throughout the galaxy and reach out to other-worldly populations. Trunks had said the dinners were to address the concerns of safety from the ousted Arjunians, as well as trade agreements and diplomatic ties with Chikyuu and its protectorates.

But all Goten could concern himself with was his nagging headache.

"Not in the mood to bless the crowd with your presence?"

Goten looked over at Juunanagou, who suddenly stood leaning on a column beside him.

"...Trunks isn't even here, and there's enough 'Divine Family' action with Pan in the mix," Goten gestured at his niece, who stood in the middle of a wide swath of dignitaries. They each kissed her hand as she talked and smiled, some even going on one knee to bow to the new 'Wife of the Throne'.

Juunanagou smirked. "I guess the motivation of having this event so soon after the wedding has been realized: Son Pan is ingratiating herself rather nicely, and half of the ambassadors are so taken with her that their complaints about Trunks' latest import tariffs are all but forgotten."

"Just like Yamucha said," Goten commented, putting his head in his hands.

"...Are you all right?" Juunanagou asked, arching a brow.

"Fine. Just...haven't slept well lately."

"Ah," the cyborg breathed, his attention going back down to the banquet hall.

"...I am surprised," the grinning Ambassador of Serulia was saying, spreading his hands across his large belly. "His Holy Lord Son of the Throne has put his wife to work this soon. I thought surely he would want to keep such a jewel to himself a little while longer before throwing her us lowly wolves."

"Trunks and I are in love but we do not live in a fantasy," Pan said, measuring her every word. "There are things to be done, and I am committed to helping in any way I can."

"You are helping us by just being here tonight, My Lady Goddess." the Chikyuu-jin Councilman did not meet her eyes as he bowed respectively. But he gave a glance of venom to the Ambassador. "It is unseemly for the Ambassador to speak so...casually...with one so above us all in Grace."

"Of course," the Serulian looked apologetic. At least, for the moment.

A representative for the Madrani spoke up. "Perhaps My Lady can let us know her Lord Husband's latest report of the Arjun Menace?"

Pan was hesitant. The intelligence consorts that had coached her for tonight advised her to direct questions about the Arjunsei-jin to Goten or Yamucha. But Goten was nowhere in sight, and Pan sensed Yamucha a distance away engrossed in conversation.

"By all accounts, the Arjunian armadas still lay in ruin and their numbers dwindle to nothing," she stated finally.

"That is intelligence that we have gathered with our own resources," a Farolian diplomat countered. "What we would like to hear is more details about His Holy Lord's extended military agenda towards Arjun."

"And isn't it curious...how besides archaeological data, and limited historical information...how no one has seen an indigenous Arjunian?"

Save for music and the hum of the many discussions around them, there was silence after the Serulian Ambassador's words.

"...To be more specific, there are records of travel to and from Arjun, but only going as far back as twenty-four Chikyuu-standard years ago. Why, besides various eyewitness accounts and testimonies, is there no other evidence of travel by a race who has been space-faring for over two millennia?"

Pan's eyes met with the ambassador's for a moment. Then, she lowered her head. When she raised it again, a far-away, haunted look lay in their dark depths.

"The Arjunian Armada came to Chikyuu to destroy it and take its resources. To rape its lands and enslave its children. After surviving so much turmoil and misery, and after losing my grandfather, we fought. We fought to save our home," Sounds of explosions and screams echoed through her mind as she spoke.

"And if need be, we will do it again. Do not ask me to explain your findings, good sir, for I can explain it no better than I can tell you why people urged Chikyuu's forfeiture of sovereignty and natural resources to surrounding planetary governments in exchange for protection. A provision that your parliament supported, if I remember correctly."

Flustered, the Serulian was about to speak when Yamucha appeared beside Pan from the crowd.

"Having a good cultural exchange, are we not?" he said, flashing white teeth and placing his hands behind his back.

There were uneasy chuckles that gave way to more lightheartedness at Pan's smile. "Of course, Your Grace. I thank you for the opportunity to host tonight."

She bowed graciously, as the assembly agreed around her, cheering.

Bra sat by her bedroom window, and she didn't blink as she felt the rush of air and ki behind her. She only inhaled deeply, responding to the new presence in her chamber like a caress.

"Gohan," she breathed, standing up as he scanned the room.

"There aren't as many servants and tutors in the east wing as there are normally," he observed.

"Some of them wanted to visit family." Bra lied without missing a beat.

He nodded, and she crossed the room to stand before him.

"I heard you have samples from Arbatzu-sei. I came to see them."

"You may see them...eventually," said Bra. And she reached out her hand, brushing her knuckles on his arm. Gohan let his head fall back, closing his eyes.

"...This is wrong," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Then why did you come here..." Her hand ran lower. "...when it's night..." And lower. "...and none of my servants are around?"

"I..." Gohan began, as Bra slowly unraveled the silk sash of his gi.

"Why did you start coming to my room, and why do you continue?" Bra inquired, more insistent.

"I...I don't know."

Bra paused, and raised her heavy-lidded face to Gohan's. "But you're Son Gohan. You know everything."

And she continued to undress him.

_Next chapter: So most of the Z warriors are accounted for...Wait, where is Piccolo? Let's find out._


	9. Chapter 9: A Visitor

She descended into the caverns, not admiring the opulent formations of rock and water around her like she did normally. Today wasn't a day to dwell on scenery. She took a nearby torch in hand, lighting it with a burst of ki, and walked the slick and jagged stairs further into darkness.

Pan didn't realize how far she had walked until she had reached the clearing. The only sound she heard at first was the drip-drop of underwater springs onto the ground beneath her, but then as she held her torch in front of her, she felt the rustling of cape before she even saw it.

"I don't know why you keep coming here, kid," the gruff voice echoed in the high limestone ceilings.

Not responding to the offhanded question, she set her torchlight in between two stalagmites and walked forward, her steps careful and quiet.

"Just like your father. Stubborn." Piccolo shook his head.

Pan turned away as her face contorted in helpless fury. "And if he knew they were keeping you here like this...he would find Trunks and Yamucha and tear out their lying tongues."

Piccolo grunted, the enchanted chains around his hands and feet emitting a malevolent glow.

"You're not as stupid as that new husband of yours thinks you are," he said. "But you know why you must not say anything about me."

"I know."

"As long as I languish here in obscurity..." His shackles rattled as he gestured to the cave around him. "...My people will be safe from harm."

"Even though no one knows where they are...nor where the Kaio-shin moved Namek-sei."

"It was the terms of the agreement that put me here. This way, Trunks and the others get to be gods in thought; and the Kaio get to be gods in fact."

"Why didn't you just leave? Like Vegeta and Bulma did?" Pan asked.

"Because Chikyuu is my home," he answered, his voice soft but resolute.

Pan looked away, making a noise of assent.

"Not that it is any of my business...and I don't judge people and their decisions-"

"You want to know why I married Trunks." Pan cut him off.

Piccolo pressed his lips shut.

"I thought I could make him change," Pan's chest emptied, her voice hollow. "Make him see that all his actions have only made us feared, not safer. But...he's just so far gone. He keeps ratcheting up fear that the Arjunsei-jin will attack again."

At the mention of the Arjunsei-jin, Piccolo's eyes narrowed in anger.

"I hate this life, this constant worship...everything I do being observed. I hate being so separated from people. So isolated. But it doesn't affect him at all."

Piccolo crossed his arms the best he could with his chains. "Trunks is trying to be what he thinks his father wanted him to become. And either through strength or blood, he had control over everyone around him. Except one."

"He never had control over my father," Pan whispered.

"No, but he does now: He has _you._"

Shaking away her guilt-ridden expression, Pan flashed a hardened glance at the imprisoned Namekian. "What's done is done. We can't just wait for Grandpa to come back and fix everything. You say there are others among the Kaio that feel the same way we do?"

He nodded. "And from what my other visitors tell me, there are people throughout the galaxy who would like to see Yamucha and Trunks fail. You come here for my advice, Pan? Stay close to Trunks. Find his supporters and detractors. Talk to him about his everyday dealings. And avoid Yamucha whenever you can."

Pan nodded in return. She was picking up her torchlight when she stopped and turned.

"You have 'other visitors'?"

"...A few, here and there." Piccolo said evasively.

"How did they find this place? How did anyone know you were here?" Pan asked.

"...How did _you _know, kid?"

She looked at the Namekian askance, a small grin on her face at Piccolo's familiar affectation. She pulled a hood over her head, and walked back out into the caverns without a word of goodbye.

_Next: It's Festival season on Chikyuu. But something foul is in the air..._


	10. Chapter 10: The Sentinel, Part I

_Author's note: You ever notice how, in every video game, they give you a bunch of weapons and free stuff when you are about to fight a boss battle? Like, they'll just leave treasure boxes out in the open, and you're like, 'Yeah, crap's about to go down.' That's basically where you are in the story now. Consider this chapter a giant room of treasure chests._

"It's too tight," Trunks complained, pulling at the overtly laced collar.

"You have no one to blame but yourself for that. Weren't you the one that allowed that frou-frou, prissy designer to make all of the ceremonial clothes?"

Trunks glared at Goten. "Don't remind me. And why does yours look more comfortable than mine?"

Goten shrugged. "The costs of being lower on the totem pole?"

Trunks failed to hide his laugh. He coughed, and stared forward.

"Okay. Here we go."

The two walked out from the curtained balcony to thunderous applause from the crowd below. Trunks placed an arm around Goten's shoulders, and they both put a hand up in recognition of the gathering. The young men smiled as the audience continued to cheer and wave.

"It's been two months since the Cultural Dinner, and again you have us all dolled up and waving like idiots," Goten was talking through his teeth as he maintained his smile.

"The festivals keep the public interested. And I'm sure you'll find something to amuse yourself with." Trunks countered, nodding in acknowledgment to the three Chikyuu councilmen that bowed nearest the balcony.

Yamucha burst through the curtains, the medallions from his festival garment jingling.

"It's a frag-storm down there. Not one but two Rikau-seijin diplomats are waiting for your brief audience," he said to Trunks. He looked at Goten. "With Trunks indisposed this early, your Lady Niece will need someone to escort her to the dais."

Goten groaned, rolling his eyes. "Do I have to?"

Trunks slapped his friend on the back. "I'll leave it to you. And please, Goten: Be civil this time."

Trunks slipped away before Goten could respond. Down the stair and into the main hall, he watched the crowd part in front of him. Seeing someone out of the corner of his eye, he detoured by the table fifth from the balcony and throne seating.

"Krillin!" Trunks' tone was jovial. "You've successfully hid away from me these last few months."

Krillin, sitting across from his wife and daughter, gave Trunks a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "The Cultural and Informational Dinner was such a success, Trunks, that I aimed to keep a low profile afterwards."

"Ridiculous. You're our Foreign Affairs Minister, our chief diplomat. We need you." Trunks lowered his voice, spotting the cane perched on the older man's side. "...How are you feeling lately?"

"Good. As good as yesterday," Krillin answered, giving Trunks a reassuring pat on the arm.

Trunks smiled his brightest yet, and bowed respectfully at Juuhachigou and Marron. He took the younger of the ladies by the hand.

"You just get prettier every time I see you, Lady Marron." He kissed the upside of her palm.

"Thank you, Trunks." Marron said shyly, not seeing but feeling the cold stare her mother was giving the Throne-son.

"Lady Juuhachigou, I hope you are not convincing your husband to abandon his duties," Trunks looked back at Krillin, whose face still kept a careful expression. "I'm beginning to think I don't pay him enough."

Trunks gave the table one last charming bow, and left. And with him left the family's pretenses of content.

"Wonderful. You might as well have invited him over for a dinner date," Juuhachigou's voice was on the razor-thin edge of a hiss and a curse.

"We are at a festival," Krillin warned her, looking around to assure himself that the din of the crowd was such that their conversation wouldn't be heard. "...You act as if I had a choice."

Hana adjusted Bra's gown for the fourth time, and as Hana bowed and retreated Bra began to speak. "It's about time. I thought I would never be able to sit down-" She turned. "Oh no. They sent you."

Goten took her hand, and they turned in unison.

"Trunks is in conference with half of the Rikau delegation right now," he said, his voice bland. "As Officiator of the Festival, it is my responsibility to step in for your brother."

"If it was that much of a pain, I could have seated myself." Bra snapped.

"You, The Beloved Daughter of the Throne, seating yourself? This is a festival. The crowd would have a coronary if you did that."

"Very well then," They were halfway across the banquet hall at the moment. "When it comes to Trunks doling out chores, I guess there is no accounting for IQ level."

Goten exhaled roughly, muttering, "Is there anything that can get me through this evening?" His eyes claimed a group of young women who returned his glance with open interest. "Okay, possibly there is..."

Bra followed the direction of his eyes, then made a noise of disgust. "Pig..."

The two crossed paths with Pan—with Yamucha as her escort—and stood in front of their respective ivory-carved thrones. The room hushed in deference as the three Divine Children sat, one by one. And together, the audience bowed deeply, women holding sequined gowns in curtsy and men placing one hand in front of themselves and one behind. After being acknowledged, everyone resumed drinking, dancing, and mingling. Bra scanned the crowd, anxious.

"And how are you doing today, Holy Daughter?"

She looked up. Yamucha leaned against Trunks' empty seat.

"From one side-show to another," she commented dryly, turning her eyes back to the hall.

"Looking for Gohan?" Yamucha ignored her usual insults.

Bra's attention snapped back to him. "Where is he?"

"He won't be coming tonight," Yamucha cast his eyes to the front tables for a moment. "He did a favor for me, took care of some last-minute research. And you know he doesn't like these things very much anyway."

"I know that," Bra replied. Too quickly. Yamucha looked back down at her. Nervous, Bra turned away.

A few seconds passed, and she glanced back to find Yamucha still staring.

"Oh, come on. What is it now?" She asked, voice brimming on annoyance.

"...Nothing," Yamucha struggled to keep his voice neutral. "You...you look so much like her."

The flint in Bra's eyes softened minutely at his words.

Goten looked over at his only companion on his family's side of the dais. "You having fun?"

Pan met his glance with a tiny smile. "As much fun as can be had...at these sort of things."

"Yeah," Goten slumped in his chair, stretching out his left leg. "Makes you wish for the old days a little bit. You know, when we could just fly around...do whatever we want."

"Times have changed, I guess," Pan mused. She played with the Serulian silk of her gown. "We did those things between spouts of us saving the world. Now there's really nothing to save."

Pan was silent, her brow furrowing as she turned back to her uncle. He eyed her in mild shock.

"That—That wasn't what I...That came out wrong. Sorry," she tripped through her words. "I meant since Chikyuu isn't really under any real threat anymore...and since Trunks negotiated intergalactic peace, we don't have to worry about rushing out and saving people all the time."

"No more training for the next big baddie streaking his way towards Chikyuu-sei. No more always being ready. Can't say that it makes me unhappy," said Goten.

"But after doing it all for so long, what are we supposed to do?" Pan murmured.

"Enjoy life! Revel in it. Roll around in it." Goten spread out his hand. An attendant mechanically handed him a glass of wine, which Goten looked at, puzzled, before accepting and putting it to his lips.

"...You mean 'this life', Uncle?" Pan turned to him, and those dark Son family eyes met one another for a rare moment.

"Yes," Goten said finally. "Look, little one...Sometimes, it's better to be loved for what you are not...Than feared for something you are."

And, after a short pause, he reached over and tweaked his niece's nose like she was eight again. He was smiling his father's smile.

"Don't worry. Everything works itself out. In time," he whispered.

_Next chapter: Haha, I love writing Bra's dialogue...Next is The Sentinel, Part II. Like I said, things are about to get crazy._


	11. Chapter 11: The Sentinel, Part II

_Author's Note: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, everyone!_

"...One and all, in attendance tonight," the banquet announcer was saying, "We once again pay tribute...to the Throne, and to the Divine."

The portly man turned, holding a chalice towards the five thrones in the front of the room.

"To the Divine Secondborn, Lord Goten! Protector of Festivals, One Whose Right Hand Holds The Cup of Abundance!"

"To the Secondborn!" the crowd echoed. Goten raised his cup symbolically, grinning.

"To Our Vision...The Jewel In The Dragon's Eye," the announcer continued. "Our Beloved Goddess was born and the world finally knew Beauty."

Bra smiled, her gaze demure.

"Our Holy Daughter of the Throne, Blessed Guardian of Purity and Innocence!"

"Our Holy Daughter of the Throne!" everyone called back.

Yamucha smiled, still standing beside Bra. He looked past the announcer, as if he thought he saw something. Shaking the feeling off, he turned his attention back to the festival.

"And Our Lady, who halves the Union between Throne and Divinity. With poise and serenity, She watches over all warriors, and those who would sacrifice their lives for freedom. To Holy Lady Pan, Wife of the Throne-son and Sentinel of the Battlefield!"

"To Our Holy Lady! To the Great Sentinel!" The roar of the crowd tingled around Pan, melting together excitement and dread. She felt a cold sweat roll down her back.

_What was wrong?_

Yamucha was the one that saw it first. The hooded figure was standing right beyond the edges of the crowd, not 40 paces from the dais. It regarded its target with flat, monotone eyes.

Out of the corner of her eye, Bra saw Yamucha spring forward. Goten was rising from his chair, his face knotted in concern. Everything was happening all at once, at the speed of sound. But to Bra, it was as if the air was thick, and everyone was inexplicably slowed.

Except the hooded figure, its hand now raised.

Yamucha was still in air, moving towards Goten now.

The fingers on the hand gnarled, broke, and turned back on themselves.

Bra turned her head to the last chair on the dais.

Pan was standing to her feet, unsteady.

The maw that opened in the hand whirred and glowed.

Bra leaned forward.

The shot rang out, travelling its laser-like path past the heads of the attendees, and through Pan's chest.

Screams rang out amongst the crowd. The momentum of the blast sprayed dark blood on Pan's chair and knocked her backwards. Goten's mouth opened, and out came a shout of rage Bra knew she would never forget.

Somewhere, far on the eastern side of the palace, Trunks violently whipped his head towards the banquet hall.

The figure turned, unperturbed by the masses around it, and fired again. Goten went down, a web of shiny black ooze wrapped around him. He screamed like a tortured animal, going down on one knee, before finally collapsing in pain.

Bra was frozen in her chair. Her hands gripped the armrests. She thought she heard Yamucha, and she was quickly surrounded by a wall of blue and black. The guards had appeared from all sides, making a protective ring around her.

"Establish a perimeter around the hall! Seal the main doors!" Yamucha was yelling in the commlink he kept in his collar. "Do not open fire, do not engage the suspect! Move to secure the Throne-son!"

Bra slid out of her seat and crawled on the floor, the train of her dress covering her legs. She heard a painful groan, and looked up to see Krillin and his wife dragging a prone Goten next to Pan.

Pan...

Pan lay convulsing on the dais. The marble floor around her was covered in more dark blood. Too much blood.

Juunanagou and his squad stood their ground, training their weapons on the target. Moments went by like eternity before the figure squirmed, making more whirring sounds and went on all fours. Its heavy limbs left cracks in the stone where it stepped, almost clumsily.

"Containment shots only—Fire!" Juunanagou shouted, sending a ki blast that bounced off its body. The singed part that lay beneath shone metallic gray.

The squad fired close-range. The crowd screeched, scrambling over each other to get away from the scene.

Yaumcha put a hand up to his ear and kept screaming orders. "Make a tighter formation—Do NOT let the crowd see Pan and Goten!"

"Yaumcha, we have to clear the hall! Now!" Krillin's voice was strained amongst the screams and firing.

The mechanized assassin turned again, shaking off ki blasts and laser bolts alike as if they were droplets of water, and ran towards the stained glass window. It reared back its hind legs and jumped, sending glass over the panicked audience.

"Ladies and gentlemen, follow the markers to the nearest evacuation areas!" Juuhachigou's usually soft voice carried across the expanse of the hall. "Do not panic!" She cast a ki shield over an elderly couple as more glass shards fell from above.

Bra crawled closer to Goten. His body twisted and he bit his lip until blood trickled down his chin. The net constricted around his midsection, and Bra could hear his bones snapping.

"Stay back, Holy Lady," a medic warned. "This net is made from some foreign alloy—it responds to Lord Goten's struggling. Please don't touch it, I beg you."

Bra eyed her brother's friend helplessly. She half-walked, half-crawled to Pan's side. Yaumcha was on his knees, feeling the familiar rush of Trunks' ki as the Throne-son slammed into the earth near the dais.

"What—what has—?" Trunks broke off as he saw his wife's prone form.

"Juunanagou and his squad are in pursuit," Yaumcha fought to keep his voice from cracking. He stood and checked the young man's forward motion with a hand on his shoulder. "The weapons they used...the medics said they look to be responding to Saiya-jin body chemistry."

Trunks stared at the dais, his chest heaving. Then, as if a switch was thrown in his head, his eyes widened and his jaw clenched. The surge of black power washed over Yaumcha like a wave, leaving him dizzy. Fearful. Because he had only seen that look of absolute rage on one other in his lifetime. And it wasn't Trunks.

Trunks turned and shot out of the window with a growl of primal intent.

"Trunks, no!" Yaumcha shouted. He immediately looked to the nearest squad commander. "After him!" The commander and a few officers quickly followed on foot.

Pan's eyes were rolled into her skull, and her arms and legs were still wriggling weakly as the emergency staff shot her with needle after needle. The hole in her chest, lightly cauterized, was covered in gauzy bandage strips. Bra edged closer. Hana, who had stayed and made her way to the dais after the evacuation, grabbed her mistress' hand.

"Lady Bra, they said it's dangerous—"

"It's fine," came the terse reply.

Pan suddenly reached her hand from the floor, her words warped with pain.

"Gr...fa...Gra...Grand..."

Bra looked down at her own hand, and grabbed Pan's bloody fingers. She held on, staring down into her sister-in-law's increasingly lifeless face.

_Next: "Whoever did this...They have a chance to run. I suggest they use it: They won't get another."_


	12. Chapter 12: Sleeping Giant

_Author's note: New year, new chapter! A big thank you to those of you who reviewed my story...I'm encouraged by your kind words to keep going! A lot of this has been rewritten from the original version I wrote for my OGC blog. To answer a question I received from a reader, my favorite character at this particular part of the story is...Bra. She's really fun to write (because she's such a b-word) and her transformation over the course of the story is both fascinating and heartbreaking. Okay, enough talk._

"...An update on the startling attack on Lady Son Pan, Daughter of Son Gohan the Divine Firstborn. Primary reports indicate that Lady Pan has been moved to an undisclosed location off Chikyuu, and that her condition remains critical..."

"...Earlier today, prayer vigils were held all over Farole and parts of Arbatzu, with the latter's parliament declaring an official 'day of mournful observance' in the wake of 'a horrible and unprovoked attack'. Chikyuu-sei State Television will neither confirm nor deny the possible involvement of the newly-reformed Arjunian Empire, which according to various intelligence reports, continues to strengthen in the Outer Quadrant..."

"...Finally appearing before media outlets after ten long days of silence, Secretary of Informational Exchange Lord Yamucha of Chikyuu had this to say: 'Whoever did this...They have a chance to run. I suggest they use it: They won't get another.'"

"...have kept the Chikyuu-jin participants of many work abroad programs, such as the Capsule Educational Exchange Program, on high alert, as many experts say businesses and trade hubs with many Chikyuu-jin workers may be considered 'soft targets'..."

"...And it has been confirmed by Serulian news networks that Lady Bra, Daughter of the Throne and Jewel of the Dragon's Eye, has taken the helm of Capsule in her Lord Brother's prolonged absence from public life. One can only help but wonder what reactions have come from within the two Holy Families of Chikyuu-sei—especially from Lady Pan's father, Son Gohan the Divine Firstborn, who has refused any public audiences since the night of his daughter's attempted assassination..."

The barkeep set another barrel of ale near the edge of the shoddy wooden table. "So they're finally calling it 'assassination', huh?"

One local patron, a surly-looking Farolian, didn't take his eyes off the monitor as he made a noise of affirmation. The barkeep growled in frustration.

"As if we don't know who did it. Dirty, beady-eyed Arjun scum."

"Bunch of cowards, they are," Another customer seated on the far side of the bar piped up. "They can't beat Lord Gohan, so they go after his daughter...May the Divine keep her soul."

The rest of the patrons raised their glasses, echoing the prayer.

"Even so," the barkeep was saying. "They were able to hurt His Lord Second-born easy enough."

"Where'd you hear that?" The Farolian customer finally tore his eyes from the news feed.

Another voice, also in the back of the bar, spoke. "Yeah, they didn't say anything about Lord Goten being hurt. Who said that?"

"A friend of a friend of one of my regulars was at the festival that night. Saw the whole thing. He says whatever shot Lady Pan...shot Lord Goten too...then went on all fours like a big cat and sprung out the window. People closer to the front said it was some kind of robot."

"Sending robots to kill Gods. The whole business is sacrilege." the second customer said.

"Since when does an Arjunian care about what's sacred?!" Another voice cracked with anger. "The Arjunian doesn't care about that. He wants to kill and enslave everyone."

"I hope they hunt them down to the last sorry foot soldier," the Farolian said. "And the Firstborn hangs them up by their balls."

The probe bot moved to the left. The metal tubing clanged against the outer shell of armor.

"Marron," Yamucha made brisk steps into the room, flanked on each side by intelligence consorts with transmitters in hand. "This conversation is being recorded, and sent straight to the South Quadrant. My Lady, you are with us?"

"I am here, Yamucha. Marron," Bra's voice crackled over the commlink.

"This is what we have so far," Marron moved the probing device and leaned over the nearby console, the 3D image cast blue over her features. "It looks like we've found the central command unit here, and what little we can scrap together from it is encrypted with non-binary interspersed characters. This isn't a programming language that Capsule has seen, nor is it one that I have any experience with."

Yamucha touched the scored openings around the drone's arms and legs. They sung of Trunks' rage. He was the one who took the drone down—it was a miracle they were able to recover anything at all.

"Were you able to salvage any radio signatures? Maybe we can start a preliminary trace using its internal transmitter," he asked.

"That's just it: There wasn't any transmitter," Marron answered, seeing Yamucha's eyes widen in surprise. "This thing wasn't being operated by remote."

Yamucha looked back at his consorts, whom also wore expressions of shock.

"Artificial Intelligence," Bra's cool, detached voice broke the silence. "How close is the design to what we have on record?"

"Not at all like Baby, very primitive. We'll need to make a more extensive search, including off-planet archives...but if I may make a guess..."

"You may," Yamucha encouraged.

"This design is structured around a quadrupedal animal...it was made simple. Which means the maker has access to schematics dating back more than 80 years. Thanks to Secretary Yamucha, only a few interplanetary organizations have that kind of access. We can at least narrow down the list of possibilities that way."

"So our evil mastermind wants us to think that anyone could have done it, but in reality the droid could have only come from a handful of places," Bra mused.

Yamucha nodded no one in particular. "And they also know that AI research and development was outlawed fifteen years ago...but they used an unknown programming language to make tracing that much more difficult."

"It's too early to call this one," Bra's voice was rigid. "Yamucha, secure the archives both here on Chikyuu and in the colonies. I want you to personally check in with our people on Arbatsu, see who has been accessing AI data in the Capsule Exchange Program."

"Yes, My Lady."

"Marron, conclude your examination of the drone and send your finished report to me directly. Both of you keep me informed of your progress."

"Of course, Holy Lady."

His back was turned to the arched doorway when he heard the peg-like steps approach him. The sound of someone walking with assistance.

"Trunks," Goten stopped to adjust his crutch gingerly around his midsection, then continued into the chamber as he spoke.

Trunks' lavender hair was made pale blue by the glow of the regen tank, the only light source in the room. Pan floated in silence. Trunks put his hands behind his back, still not turning to address his friend.

"I just got a call from South City. Bra wants to raise the threat levels to Omega-Six. The Council's about to pee their pants."

If Trunks heard him, he did not show it. Goten, now a few feet away, pressed his lips together in resolution.

"Trunks, you have to come back. It's not that Bra isn't doing a good job...But everyone's running around, going crazy. It's like you almost died instead of Pan."

The Throne-son finally turned his head back towards his childhood confidant. Encouraged, Goten hobbled forward until he was by his side.

"You know how much the Council depends on you. Even Yamucha is having a rough time with all of their late-night emergency sessions..." Goten broke off. He had just seen Trunks' face, for the first time in days.

His hair was uncombed. His skin was pale and roughened with unchecked hair around his jaw. And his eyes...ringed with circles and dull pupils.

"...Trunks..." Goten recovered from his shock, concern spreading wide over his face. He spoke slowly. "When's the last time you've eaten?"

"I don't know," Trunks finally spoke. His voice was flat, limp. And he never broke gaze with his wife's long tresses floating about her in the tank.

"They shouldn't have just left you in here like this," Goten started to turn, lifting his crutch to walk back towards the entrance. "I'll go to the console, tell them to send you food, water-"

"I told them to leave me."

That empty voice came again, breathed out through almost unmoving lips. It stopped Goten in his tracks.

"Trunks...please. This is no reason to punish yourself."

"When I was a child," Trunks began, ignoring Goten's words. "I asked Momma why Poppa treated her so badly in front of people. At home, he was fine. Tolerant. Kind, even. But outside, he never looked at her. He acted like she was invisible. Momma just smiled and said, 'Because he's scared.'"

Goten looked his friend from head to toe, eyebrows drawn together. Trunks raised his head, still staring at the woman bathed in unearthly synthetic light.

"I never understood what she meant. But now," Trunks' hollow throat filled with air, making a sound that Goten knew was meant to mask sobbing. "Now I know what my father feared. Losing someone. Someone close to you."

"What happened wasn't your fault. I know that is the last thing you want to hear right now, but you had no way of knowing-"

"It is my _job_ to know everything, Goten."

"That's impossible. Even for you." Goten spoke with patience.

"Maybe...all of this...everything we've done," Trunks lowered his hands, letting them fall at his sides. "Maybe it was all for nothing."

Goten set his jaw, looking away.

"Thirty years ago, we were flying around West Capital...and we had to stop a family from eating each other. Remember that?" Goten didn't wait for a reply. "A few days ago I was talking to one of my captains. His son is in school studying science. He wants to be a doctor. My captain came home one day, and saw his boy reading about 'super-viruses'. He asked his father what AIDS was, and what it was like before the cure."

And now, Trunks felt Goten's eyes piercing his back.

"Thirty years. From people eating each other on the street...to a whole generation of children who don't know what AIDS is. And never will." Goten moved to where he could see his friend's face. "Thirty years. Because of you."

"Because of _us_," Trunks corrected.

"No. Because of you," Goten repeated. "My father was a good man. A great hero. But he couldn't cure a disease. He couldn't influence governments to change things like education and public health. He was a warrior. We all are warriors, from a warrior race. But you...you changed the way people think. About everything."

They were both quiet for a moment.

"Now," said Goten, with a renewed confidence. "Let's go and get you some food...and a decent bed."

Trunks resisted, but finally lowered his eyes and gave a simple nod.

Goten broke into a satisfied smile, and once again moved to exit from the room.

"Goten," started Trunks.

Goten shook his head, still smiling. "Don't say it."

Trunks cracked a tiny smile. "...All right." He looked back to his wife's still form.

"But still..."

Goten was almost halfway across the chamber when he heard Trunks speak, and he turned again.

"What?" Goten cut short his question. "We—we know it wasn't the Arjunsei-jin."

"No," Trunks murmured, deep in thought. "...Our trust has been betrayed."

"'Betrayed'? By who?"

Trunks didn't answer. He put a hand up to the bubbled glass, outlining the contour of Pan's cheek.

_Next Chapter: "He has a plan," he whispered. "Wait for your cue."_


	13. Chapter 13: The Real Enemy

_Author's note: Hi everyone! Back from my training. I got a little boo-boo (broken ankle) and I'll be laid up for a while. But the good thing about that is plenty of time to work on OGC! I won't leave you in a cliffhanger either-I'll post ANOTHER chapter tomorrow. Thank you for reading!_

The two Rikau-seijin were dressed in the pale-colored shells from their home planet, piercings scattered throughout their faces. Eyes lowered, they waited until the door opened and closed behind them. Heavy boots made steps to where the taller of the two representatives held a large black folder. Handing it away, the Rikau-seijin both bowed, and shuffled out of the room.

Now alone, Yamucha turned to Juunanagou, who hung in the shadows.

"Showtime." he whispered.

The thunderous roar of applause bounced around in Krillin's sensitive ears, filling it to an incomprehensible mass. Goten, now walking with a cane, waved and smiled as the Chikyuu-jin Council of Peace gathered in West Capital City for their first official session of the year. Up in the rafters of the Great Hall, the press scrambled to capture the image of Son Goten making his way through the crowd of politicians, shaking hands and exchanging knowing glances until he reached his chair at the left side of the Council floor.

"All of this noise, and all the boy really suffered were a few broken ribs," Krillin observed.

"That's not the point. Goten has always been popular with the people," Marron said, not looking up at the direct hyperlink feed on her handheld. "He's handsome, young, easy-going...he's 'that boy' that all boys want to be friends with growing up."

"And his spine was almost severed in half. You forget how serious that sounds to someone who isn't Saiya-jin nor Meta-human," Juuhachigou added. She flanked her husband where he stood, near the Foreign Affairs balcony seating.

Krillin mumbled in agreement, and was approached from behind by a Madrani dressed in the blue and black uniform of an intelligence consort. The Madrani leaned forward, his voice low in Krillin's ear. A frown splashed across his brow.

"What's wrong?" His wife asked, and Marron looked up from her touch screen.

"Gohan just arrived."

Marron scrunched her nose, puzzled. "That's a problem?"

Her father nodded at the Madrani consort, sending him on his way.

"It's not Gohan that's the problem," Krillin took his cane, turning to make his way to the Council floor. "It's who he brought with him."

"Now I will come in and hug Goten first. It's not custom, but we want to send the message of solidarity. And it makes him look like more of a war hero and less of a victim," Bra walked with Hana taking notes behind her.

"Hello, Bra."

Bra felt Hana shrink away from her, not daring to speak as her mistress turned around. Their eyes were the same shade, but the older ones were beset with age.

"...Videl," Bra's voice recovered quick. Quicker than the cold sweat that sprang to life just below the hairline of her neck. "It has been too long."

"Indeed it has. It has," replied Videl, her sharp voice betraying her kindly features.

Bra filled the unsettling silence. "I don't think anyone expected you to be here at the Council today," Her voice softened. "How are you feeling?"

If Bra's feigned tone of concern had an effect on Videl, she didn't show it. "Gohan and I are in West Capital so I can take the shuttle to Capsule's MedCenter Satellite. You all made the decision to treat Pan there. I have no interest in speaking here. Gohan wanted to attend. I am simply...waiting for this to be over so I can go see my child."

"Ah. I see." Bra looked visibly relieved. Noticing her response, Videl gave the younger woman a tight smile.

"Don't worry. As I just said, I have no interest in speaking here—not anymore."

"Where is Gohan, if I may ask?" Bra took a moment to look around, seeming nonchalant.

Videl turned her head, regarding Bra askance. "...You mean you don't know?"

And her unflinching gaze siphoned every drop of blood to Bra's face. The younger of the two put both hands behind her back, bowing to end the conversation.

"Safe travels to MedCenter, Videl."

Videl returned her gesture with a nod, walking to her and stopping until they were side by side.

"What's wrong with you?" Videl asked, her voice chiding. She looked around, noticing the media swirling at a distance with recorders in hand. "...Don't want to give me a hug for the photo op?"

And with that, she walked away, Bra standing like a statue in her wake. She sensed Hana hovering near.

"Why are you still standing here?!" Bra hissed through clenched teeth. Shaking her head, she strode briskly towards the Council floor.

Hana bowed, her face anxious as she watched her mistress's retreating form.

"The announcements for the Councilmen are almost finished, everyone should be taking their seats shortly."

Yamucha's mind was far off when his assistant touched his shoulder. He stopped himself from jumping at the contact.

"Your Grace, His Holy Lord the Throne-son."

Yamucha's head snapped up—to see Trunks staring at him with mirth.

"Yamucha," he said with a smile.

"...Trunks," the older man stood, grabbing the other in a bear hug. Yamucha held him close to say in his ear, "If you were truly a god, I would thank you for answering my prayers."

"And those prayers were?" Trunks asked.

"That you would be here," Yamucha replied, echoing Trunks' grin.

Trunks held him by the arms, pulling him back to look at his face. Yamucha vaguely heard, felt, the media's cameras and recording drones humming into a frenzy around them. He focused on Trunks, who looked to all the world like a man greeting a long lost friend after a terrible ordeal. The Throne-son had timed their initial meeting just when all of the active press transmissions would be on the Council floor—just when the feed would be on Yamucha himself.

_Never let it be said that the boy can't play the game, _he said with an inner smirk.

"Did you retrieve what I asked for?" Trunks turned his head, seeing his sister and Goten approach each other in his peripheral vision.

Yamucha patted the stack of documents on his desk. "Everything is ready."

Trunks nodded his head, turning to see Bra place both hands on either side of Goten's face, kissing him on the cheek. Goten smiled, taking Bra's arm in his and walking her to her floor seat.

"Well," his voice was low and mocking. "That wasn't _completely_ contrived. Good job."

"The fact that you can stand long enough is unbelievable," was Bra's acerbic reply. "Just how is it that you happen to both look and smell like warmed-over garbage all at once?"

_"_I don't know what you're talking about, and neither do you," Goten growled.

"Please. I can practically feel the wine in your blood," she spat back. "And you look like you haven't slept in days."

"Thanks for your concern, My Lady." Goten said dryly. "Let's just say that I've been anticipating this day too much for sleep."

They reached Bra's seat, and she held out her hand for Goten to kiss in proper tribute.

"Why would _you_ anticipate a session of Council? You usually skip out early to coddle with whatever Madrani tramp you meet in the Hall Courtyard."

Goten shook his head slowly. "Usually. But not today. Not with what's going to happen this session."

Bra frowned. "What do you mean?"

Goten leaned forward to whisper in her ear. At his words, Bra's eyes widened, and her head jerked up at him.

"He has a plan. Wait for your cue."

Goten kissed her hand. Bra sat down, her face pensive.

Trunks walked up and took the center seat, Yamucha flanking him on his left. As the crowd became hushed, without a word of neither announcement nor fanfare, the 15 members of the Chikyuu-jin Council of Peace entered the large Hall. Their seats ringed around the center of the room, and beyond them sat the many representatives from other planets, territories, protectorates, militaries, and non-partisan committees.

Councilwoman Bairsh, a thin but steely-eyed figure with pale hair, stood in the center, and bowed to Trunks and the seats behind him before taking her seat. The others did the same.

"With the blessing of the Divine and the Throne, we do call this session of the Council to order." Bairsh's voice bounced off the walls, surprising in its strength.

"Before we begin," The councilman to Bairsh's left spoke up. "The Council has been informed that there is one amongst our Lords that wishes to address the gathered directly."

"That would be The Divine Firstborn, His Holy Lord Gohan," Yamucha said, looking around. "It seems, however, that the Firstborn is—"

"Present."

Both Trunks and Yamucha turned to see Gohan, who walked with slow and measured steps from a corner entrance to the Hall's center floor. A soft murmur floated through the crowd.

"I am present," Gohan reiterated, stopping to stand in front of the Council with his hands behind his back.

Bairsh gave a small nod of acknowledgement. "My Lord Firstborn may state his concern at his leisure."

Gohan lowered his gaze. "Of concerns I have but one. I wish to know about the investigation behind the attempt on my daughter's life. Has any new information surfaced? Are we any closer finding the ones responsible?"

The Council paused to look at one another. One diplomat, a Madrani Yamucha recognized as being called Temerin, stood and bowed deeply.

"Your humble servant Temerin of Madran wishes to speak, Lord Firstborn."

"You may," Gohan replied.

"I cannot speak for the procedures anywhere except Madran. My people have, as Chikyuu's sister planetoid and foremost protectorate, conducted a thorough search of our ports as well as our technological institutions. In the beginning we had a few leads from reliable sources, but since..." Temerin's words died on his lips.

"Much like the case on Chikyuu, the trail has run cold, My Lord," Yamucha cut in.

"My Lord Firstborn, Umlakk of Arbatzu-sei wishes to speak," A bulbous gray-skinned man dressed in opulent robes bellowed for Gohan's attention. "As His Lord may have heard, Arbatzu-sei declared a Day of Mourning that has been observed every two moons' passing since the attack on Lady Pan the Sentinel. Unlike His Grace Temerin and his constituency we have applied resources toward the underground markets, pressuring trade houses to divulge their dealings with—"

"You have done nothing of the sort, Umlakk!" Temerin countered, bracing his hands on his seat. "And your 'mourning' declaration isn't anything but a ploy to garner favor with the Council and the Divine!"

Umlakk sneered. "Watch your tongue, Madrani, lest I relay to our good Masters your delegation's hesitance to reign in their own underground organizations!"

Some of the other tables behind Umlakk began to hum with discontent, and all of the Madrani representatives in attendance stood, each making their individual pleas to speak. The din grew louder with each passing second.

"Come to order!" Bairsh shouted over the crowd to no avail. "You will come to order-"

Councilwoman Bairsh?"

The smooth tenor of Trunks' voice blanketed the Hall with renewed silence.

Bairsh looked at the main floor. "...Yes, My Lord Throne-son?"

"I ask that I may be given the floor?"

"At...at your leisure, My Lord," she stuttered.

Trunks stood, circling his table before addressing Gohan.

"I know all you seek is justice, Gohan. As do I," Trunks placed a hand on Gohan's shoulder. "But the Council is...fractious. Oftentimes, petty."

He cast a sparkling gaze at Temerin, then Umlakk.

"I'm sure that neither of you would disrespect the Council, nor our Families in such a way without just cause."

Both men, with averted glances, all but mumbled their assent. They silently reclaimed their seats.

"Gentle men and women in attendance today," Trunks' voice swept the chamber. "In times like these, it is the easiest thing to brandish a sword at an ally. Much easier than finding where our real enemy lies."

Gohan regarded Trunks with open suspicion. "Our 'real' enemy?"

"I mean to say, that sometimes the best of our actions bring out the worst in our number."

Nervous shifting and whispers wafted through the gathering.

"...Trunks, if you know something, don't speak in riddles." Gohan replied, patience wearing thin in his voice.

"Of course," was the younger Saiyajin's reply. He walked over to his seat, picking up a flat screen dossier.

"Proud Master Seiben, of Serulia."

Silence, then more hushed talk from the crowd. The middle-aged Ambassador, clearly taken by surprise, stood to his feet in the Serulian seat.

"...My Lord Trunks?" Seiben inquired.

Trunks looked up from the dossier, staring right into the ambassador's eyes before smiling.

"I apologize for not speaking with you sooner. I know how much you have wanted an audience with myself and the Council—concerning the trade tariffs Chikyuu has passed on your home planet."

Seiben, jaw slack in further bewilderment, recovered his tongue. "Yes-yes...Yes. Capsule products are a cornerstone of our economy. My Lord Throne-son now enjoys over 50% market share of communication technology on Serulia-sei."

"And a further 72% share of transportation manufacturing." Trunks added, looking at Yamucha who nodded in confirmation. He turned his attention back to Seiben. "It seems that the strategy of your kinsmen to outperform Capsule has fallen short. Many of the merchant houses and factories intended to make up for poor sales by setting up shop here on Chikyuu."

"Yes, My Lord Throne-son. But the passing of the tariffs has made it more cost-effective to sell...elsewhere."

"...'Elsewhere'. Meaning other planets besides Chikyuu and Serulia. But areas like Madran and Shikaji are accustomed to less expensive equipment. And Shikaji in general really doesn't have a need for Serulian automated technologies with its developed infrastructure."

"...My Lord?" Seiben asked, brow furrowing.

"What My Holy Lord means," Yamucha spoke up. "For Serulia, selling to anyone other than Chikyuu would necessitate Serulian factories lowering their prices and cutting their profits in half."

"You're losing money because of the tariffs. Because of Capsule. Because...of me." Trunks took a step with each sentence, stopping to lay a hand on the Council's stand.

"I do not think I like what My Lord Trunks is implying," Seiben said, eyes glinting.

Trunks and Seiben stared each other down in a tense moment.

"Neither do I, Seiben. I do not like making accusations anymore than you like hearing them."

Trunks looked down at his handheld and pressed the screen. Dozens of monitors, one for each seat in the massive hall, lit with life. All, it seemed, with the same image.

"My Lord," a councilman sitting to the far side blurted out. "This is...these are..."

"They are Escrow documents from Rikau-sei." Trunks looked up to the slack-jawed Seiben. "Do not act surprised, Master Seiben. They are the galaxy's most respected financiers—You didn't think they would record anything?"

The murmurs around the hall were getting louder by the second. Seiben looked around, wildness playing in the corners of his eyes.

"Documents in Escrow from Rikau-seijin banks fall under Serulia's private treatise with their government and are _not_ under the jurisdiction of this Council!"

"Unless they were volunteered to us as evidence of a criminal act," Yamucha's voice echoed over Seiben and the increasing clamor of the crowd.

"Please, everyone, come to order! Quiet down!" A Councilman bellowed.

Trunks paced around the main floor. "The Rikau-seijin delegation came to me privately, of their own volition. They gave me these banknotes and statements of intent, which I will invite the Council to scan for authentication."

The Throne-son handed his dossier over to a nearby intelligence consort, who hurried to the Council tiers.

Gohan, silent during all of this, finally spoke up. "Trunks...I understand that this is important. But what does this have to do with Pan?"

From her seat, Bra saw her brother's face darken. She gripped her chair to stand, when a hand closed over hers. She turned, and met with Goten's stare. Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head once. Slowly, Bra eased back down.

"What, indeed?" Trunks' eyes narrowed to slits, and he turned his attention back to Seiben.

"All that these documents prove is that Serulian trade houses were seeking more funds for fair trade competition!" the portly ambassador cried.

"They were not 'seeking' any longer, Seiben. The capital was released well before we received these documents," Yamucha pointed out. "And a large portion of it was dedicated to research and development, according to the signature from your Commerce Ministry. Development...of a new programming language that Serulia would presumably market against Capsule code. This new code has the capability to run Artificial Intelligence."

"My sister," Trunks' voice picked up after his Secretary. "She knows what this means. The codec found in the drone that attacked my wife and her Lord uncle. It's identical."

Silence fell onto the gathered Council.

"Impossible," Seiben was murmuring, his cheeks burning with indignation and fear. "That is impossible..."

"The Rikau-seijin were coming to share your illegal activities with me, for me to share with the Council in turn. That is why they were coming to me on the night of the attack."

Seiben was furiously shaking his head, sweat pouring down his high forehead to pool in his eyes. "This is a mistake...a-a terrible mistake! Serulia is innocent—I am innocent! I—!"

"Traitor!" Umlakk was standing, and others were joining him. "Murderous, heretic traitor!"

In the midst of angered and shouting representatives, Bairsh was yelling to the strain of her natural tenor. "Take Master Seiben into custody, immediately!"

Chikyuu soldiers, three on each side of the Serulian seat, materialized seemingly from nowhere. Seiben struggled from their hands, the large sleeves on his cloak billowing about him.

"L-Let go of me! I am innocent! **Serulia is being framed!**"

"Let his press core examine the notes as they wish," Trunks countered. "All of it is true."

The Council itself, who during the exchange were talking amongst themselves, nodded for their speaker to stand.

"The Council of Chikyuu and its protectorates decrees here and now that the Serulian consulate be temporarily suspended from their domestic planetary duties, as we will be conducting an investigation into this matter. We shall inform Serulia's government that if they do not comply with our inquest, we will go forth with prosecuting Master Seiben as a foreign terrorist—and we will see their refusal as an act of aggression."

There was a chorus of agreement from the gathered in the Council Hall. Seiben was still screaming his innocence, now from outside. Bra listened as the sounds of his struggling receded.

Trunks breathed slowly, as if a load had just dropped from his shoulders. He blinked slowly, and turned to his side.

Only to see Gohan staring back at him.

"The Rikau-seijin are notoriously neutral in their political leanings," Bairsh was saying, as the ruckus had calmed. "My Holy Lord Trunks, how is it that you received their aid?"

Trunks and Gohan held each other's gazes for an intense moment. Neither man was awash with relief, nor satisfaction.

"They felt that since the information in the documents suggested that Serulia was breaking interplanetary law, they had to act. At least that is what they have said. They also were called upon to meet with me by someone very influential in their social circles."

Only then did Trunks' eyes made an abrupt break from Gohan's. Bairsh and the other council members looked at one another.

"I'm sorry...But by whom?"

Trunks' face cracked into a tiny, somber smile.

"By my father."

_Next chapter: "Perhaps getting Serulia out of the way was his goal. Or maybe there is more to Pan's attack than he is letting on. He is planning something...Trunks likes his secrets."_


	14. Chapter 14: The Closer

_Author's note: Thanks for all of the wonderful reviews and thoughts! I think we are officially mid-story now...I'm amazed at how far I've come. Well, this chapter is a little Bra-centric-which means some more slightly steamy Gohan/Bra action! Enjoy!_

"...Vegeta?"

The Council, and indeed the entire great chamber, were shaken to the core as Gohan uttered the name.

"The Throne...The Black Dragon...has returned?" Bairsh's voice was down to a shocked whisper.

Trunks, his face guarded, turned away. "...No. He has not returned to Chikyuu-sei, nor does he plan to."

And again, a litany of voices, low and fearful of merely the idea of "The Black Dragon", sailed throughout the Hall.

Goten let go of the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He turned to Bra, whose heart was beating so loudly his Saiyajin ears could pick it up.

_Of course,_ he thought. _The very mention of her father..._

He reached out and took her hand. And at his touch, she started to compose herself. If Bra had ever been a woman of humility, she would have turned and thanked him.

"My Great Father still wishes to remain away from all of these...conflicts. He, as Son Gokou before Him, seeks for His children to restore the Universe to rights before He returns."

Yamucha, his eyes lowered and his waist bent in a generous bow, placed his right hand on his chest. "My Lord Throne-son...There are many other matters that the Council must handle before we are adjourned. I also think it is a prudent course to let them handle Serulia from here on out."

Trunks gave him a grateful smile, the kind one would give to an old friend.

"Of course, Yamucha."

Trunks turned to reclaim his seat, when Gohan's words broke through the tepid air.

"'...Restore the Universe to rights'?"

Both Yamucha and Trunks spun on their heels to see the Firstborn standing with his arms folded.

"...It's not like Vegeta to just leave things in others' hands, no matter how capable," he continued.

"My Father knows of this Council, and the politics of modern day. He just wanted to help, without treading on any toes." replied Trunks.

Bairsh looked prepared to speak, but kept silence at the sight of Gohan's smoldering face.

"It is stranger still that he wouldn't make himself known to anyone else," Gohan gestured to the only two seated upon the center dais. "Why would he not contact your sister? We all know how much he loves Bra. And she was temporarily the head of Capsule after you went into hiding."

At the word 'hiding', pregnant with the tone of accusation, the crowd once again began to titter nervously amongst themselves.

Yamucha saw the dangerous look in Trunks' eyes. "Trunks-"

"My father...did not contact me directly. I received kind words from him through the Rikau delegates." Trunks' voice dropped one decibel with each slow, deliberate step he took towards Gohan. "And as it pertains to your last observation...I hide from nothing."

The two men were less than three feet away from each other. No one dared breathe.

And it was then that Bra felt a slight pressure on her fingers, just painful enough to get her attention. Goten was still holding her hand. Upon meeting his eyes, she saw them shine with cold, stunning certainty.

She stood from her chair.

"Enough."

And the gathered in the Hall, including the three on the council floor, all turned to her.

Picking up her gown's hem, she walked down the dais. "Enough," she repeated. "Haven't we gone through enough loss already?"

Her steps were almost lazy, and she finally stopped as her body bisected a line between Gohan and her brother.

"My Lady Goddess-" someone started. Bairsh, perhaps.

Bra ignored the other voice. "The Enemy has made themselves known. They have struck us where they know it will hurt us most. And no matter who we think they are, or what they mean, or what they want...They are constant in their plotting against us. Against Chikyuu."

Trunks first, then Gohan, met one another's eyes. Then, hesitantly, they calmed their shoulders from their ears, shooting hard and silent breaths through clenched teeth with the effort.

Bra was still speaking, addressing all in attendance."And as long as they have no end to their diligence, neither can we. An attack on my brother's wife," Bra paused. "...An attack on my brother's wife is an attack on me. And on my Holy Father."

She turned, finally piercing Gohan with her gaze.

"And on you and Yours."

Bra looked up at the Council. "We cannot afford to be divided. Through unity, we will flush them out. We will purify the galaxy like the whitest snow—on which the dark pock mark of their deeds will have no place to hide."

Rolling, thunderous applause shook the Hall. The Council members exchanged positive, determined glances.

And in the foreign affairs seat, Krillin grunted.

"When all else fails..." he muttered, "...Send in your Closer."

"Can you believe what she said to me?" Bra lifted her long hair from her shoulders, taking off her necklace. "'Photo-op'. As if I would be so callous with her child in intensive care."

From the bed, Gohan wrapped a sheet around his middle.

"She meant no real harm in it. We all have been...under a lot of stress."

She crossed the room, following Gohan's gaze out of the wall-sized window, into the expanse of space. Bra's personal cruiser offered a generous view of Capsule's University Satellite with Chikyuu as the backdrop. A shuttle, moving in a slow arc, docked with the MedCenter. Gohan turned away, recalling the last conversation he had with the passenger on that ship.

_"Looks like the Yes-men have their day once more," his wife's bitter voice reached his ears. Gohan turned to see her standing near the Council floor. Her feet were perched on the stair just above the marble clearing. It was the closest she would approach._

_"Videl-"_

_Gohan saw her glare over his shoulder. Trunks and Yamucha were shaking hands with the Shikaji delegates who had attended today's session._

_"Jackals. Lying jackals, all of them. Look at their fake smiles. I wonder where they hide the knives in those robes."_

_"It is over and done with," Gohan cut her off before she could go any further. "Seiben is in custody. It doesn't matter if Trunks isn't forthcoming with his real sources. At the least, we are one step closer to finding out who attacked Pan."_

_Videl's eyes softened at her daughter's name, as if seeing through a fog. "Pan...Yes. Pan. I...I almost forgot..."_

_Gohan lowered his gaze to the floor._

_"Gohan?" Videl's voice had become small, like a frightened child. "Are we leaving to see her now?"_

_Her husband raised his head. And he gave Videl a smile that was more for her than it was for himself._

_"Yes. We are going to see her. Today." Gohan took her hands into his._

_They both heard the clearing of a throat, and turned to see a small black-haired young woman, her hands held behind her back._

_"My Lord Firstborn," Hana paused. "...And Lady Videl."_

_She bowed, and the skin on Videl's neck tightened noticeably._

_"Yes, is there something you need, Hana?" Gohan ignored the volatile look Videl shot his way as she realized he knew the girl._

_"Nothing needed by my undeserving hand, but there is a...small matter that my Lady Goddess wishes to discuss with My Lord privately."_

_Gohan hesitated. He felt the cool, brittle fingers in his hand. "Can it not wait until I come back from MedCenter?"_

_"While I do not presume-"_

_"Indeed you don't," Videl seethed._

_Surprising in her boldness, Hana met eyes with the older woman before continuing._

_"...While I do not presume to know my Mistress' will, I do believe there was urgency in Her voice."_

_With the great Hall teeming with energy and conversation all around them, the three stood in a frozen moment._

_"But...surely if My Lord Firstborn wishes to meet with Her another time, My Lady Goddess will not hold anger."_

_Gohan slowly looked down at Videl, who now slid closer to him, wrapping an arm as far as she could around his waist. She met eyes with her husband, a pleading look on her face._

_"No," he said finally. "I can meet with her now. If she can accompany me to MedCenter."_

_The blood drained from Videl's cheeks, and she faintly heard Hana's sound of acknowledgment._

_"My Lady Goddess has already prepared Her own cruiser. She can take My Lord to rendezvous with the MedCenter shuttle."_

_Gohan took Videl's face in his hands. "I will meet you later. You'll need to rest for a while before we visit Pan."_

_"Gohan-"_

_Gohan kissed her forehead. "The shuttle crew will make you comfortable. I will see you at MedCenter."_

_He strode away, not daring to look at her face again._

Bra joined him, staring out into nothingness for a moment. Then, she shook her head, grinning.

"Stress is the operative word for the current state of things." Her eyes flared. "The Serulians. Why are we surprised at all, knowing their history?"

"Serulia isn't our worst enemy, but they certainly aren't our best friend. It all just seems..."

Bra frowned. "What?"

"...Convenient. Serulia is now ostracized throughout the known galaxy, which will probably destroy them as an economic power. Unless, of course, their government abdicates and Serulia becomes the next protectorate. Rikau has stayed out of politics until now...but when Chikyuu's number one free market competitor starts to maneuver around, trying to avoid paying their trading fees, all of a sudden they have a change of heart? And Vegeta just _happened_ to notice?"

Bra put a hand on Gohan's arm.

"...You don't believe him. You don't believe Trunks."

The Firstborn clenched his jaw. Bra's eyes widened, and she began to shake her head.

"Trunks has done many things. Many things. But he would not lie. Not about this."

"So what do you think?" Gohan stood and leaned on the large window.

She paused before answering. "I do not know what else is going on. But if Trunks says he spoke with our father...then it is as he says."

Gohan gave a quick nod, looking back towards the large bed. The remaining sheets were crumpled and tossed.

"Perhaps getting Serulia out of the way was his goal. Or maybe there is more to Pan's attack than he is letting on. He is planning something," the Firstborn mused. "Trunks likes his secrets."

"Don't we all?" Bra moved closer, trailing a hand to where the sheet wrapped around his middle.

Gohan's breath became rough. "Bra..." he gasped.

The fingers on her other hand traced the outline of a nipple.

"I have to go...to MedCenter."

Bra didn't look up from his chest. "We can dock within the hour. Until then..."

With visible effort, Gohan grabbed her wandering hands.

"But we've done enough of this for the past few, haven't we?" he whispered.

She laughed, voice husky. "Judging from your body's reaction, we haven't done nearly enough."

Bra slid her bare leg deftly through his. The path of her touch curved inside draped folds of cotton. Without realizing it, Gohan had banded his arms around her waist with seemingly crushing force.

The first part of his sentence was drowned away in a deep, predatory growl. "...time...Another time...I will see you again at West Castle."

Her own breath labored, she raised her face to meet his gaze.

"Gohan," she started, closing her eyes. Slowly, wistfully, she stepped away from him. "...You can use the bath to freshen up if you wish."

Gohan nodded, reaching forward to caress her arms. "Thank you." And he smiled.

He walked past her, taking off his sheet to enter the baths.

"Gohan?"

He turned, all pretenses of lust leaked dry from him, the innocuous look on his face an echo of his father's.

"Yes?"

"Does she know?"

Gohan frowned. He let his eyes scan Bra head to toe before he replied, "No. No, of course not."

Bra sighed, nodding with a smile. He disappeared into the bath.

Making sure Gohan was not in sight, she pressed the button at her bedside. A few seconds past, then Hana walked in from a side door.

"My Lady," said Hana, while Bra noticed the girl's face was flushed and downcast to avoid seeing the rest of the room.

"He is bathing," Bra intoned. "Have us docked at MedCenter as soon as we are cleared for entry."

Hana looked up, visibly relieved. "I will inform the crew." She exited the way she came.

Bra turned her head to look back out, into nothingness.

_Next chapter: "The Kaio-shin are the only true gods. Trunks and his ilk lead with just as much fear as they do inspiration. They threaten, bribe, intimidate, and even kill to make Chikyuu into what it is slowly becoming: Their own personal Heaven."_


	15. Chapter 15: Convictions

_Author's Note: Whew, finally! New chapter. This chapter *was* called "Restless Tones" but I hated that title since I wrote it years ago. So I scrapped it! Also, if you have read the first chapters on my blog, you will notice that this one has been tweaked a little. I've been doing some editing along the way, and this part in particular has a bonus scene. So enjoy! Questions, reviews, comments are appreciated. Thanks to all of the new followers!_

The typical response to everything recently, whether it was a beatitude or a request, was their never-ceasing hum. A chant, ageless, and at the same time weathered. Both pleading and fat with serenity.

Neither sentiment, Kibito Kaioshin thought, was impetus enough for the Maidens to say anything new.

Thirteen times a cycle, in line with the waxing moons, the Kaio went to the Oracles of the Spirit to pray for enlightenment. For the past 23 Chikyuu years, the three virgin Oracles sat silent in a circle, the roots of the great Kaiju tree above them, spreading out and reaching farther than mortal eyes would be able to ascertain. Awash in light filtering from above, the maidens' mouths bowed in simple smiles. Their hands folded in their laps, not even the tiniest muscle moved. The offerings from the Kaio piled at the base of their altar—Kibito Kaio recognized a few from years past. There had been no change.

Until two cycles ago. Then the humming started.

And the Kaio were in an uproar as to what this meant. Some thought it a sacred rite being bestowed upon the Shin-jin for the first time. Others—West Kaio in particular—pointed out a number of phenomena occurring in Other World and around other dimensions.

Now, seated far away from the endless drone of the Oracles' song, Kaioshin mused about how many "gifts" and offerings would facilitate the Kaio Council's official answer to the rest of the universe. These days, the right sprinkling of gold and flattery could get whatever answer one would like. Except of course, the correct one.

"Lord Kaioshin," the voice behind him, respectful but not as self-serving as others he had heard recently, brought a smile and focus to his absent stare.

"Come to listen?" Kaioshin asked, tone pleasant.

"To many other things, besides the Divine Song." There was rustling of grass, and Kaioshin ran his fingers absently through the negligible weeds growing nearest his crossed legs. "May I also speak with you?"

"Of course, Dende. Speak your mind."

The Kami of Chikyuu sat like a man run ragged in a storm. Kaioshin afforded him a glance, seeing the Namekian's aged eyes and almost ratty robes. Many years had passed after the Black Star Dragons, he remembered, and those years in particular had not been kind to the Guardian.

"Lord Kaioshin, I have once again come to petition for the remand of Piccolo into my custody."

Kaioshin sighed. "Dende, we have talked about this."

"Yes, I know, Lord Kaioshin...but the situation has changed." Dende replied, shifting forward and planting his hands on the golden, ethereal ground beneath them.

"How so?"

"Enma-Daiou has brought to my attention the recent activities in his realm. With the threat of another uprising in Hell, Piccolo's expertise would be invaluable to quash the problem before it starts."

Kaioshin almost laughed. "Dende, much respect, but we have knowledge of the situation in Enma's realm and there is not enough to point to a major rebellion. Demonkind is without leadership."

"Precisely why Piccolo is needed," Dende replied. He struggled to keep the anxious tone out of his voice. "He has dealt with demons before, he has a rapport with them. They will listen to him."

"West Kaio is our liaison with Enma. He is handling the situation."

"Yes, of course, but in light of recent events with the Oracles of the Spirit-"

"Dende," Kaioshin said, an unsaid warning in his tone.

Dende's words died in his throat. A moment passed between them before he said, "Apologies, Lord Kaioshin."

"...I know you never agreed with Piccolo's detainment-"

"Imprisonment," Dende said harshly, no longer caring whether or not he cut off the Shin-jin.

Kaioshin paused, letting his eyes slip shut. "His _detainment_...but that was the terms of the agreement we have with Yamucha and young Trunks."

"I am aware of that, Lord Kaioshin."

"Then you must also be aware that it was Piccolo's decision as well."

A breeze rustled through the field beyond the Kaiju tree. It whistled between the deep roots and stalks of grass that needled their way toward the blue-green sky. And on top of it all, the constant hum of the Oracles.

"You told him to either comply or leave," the Kami of Chikyuu knotted his face. "He didn't want to play in their 'sandbox' so we locked him away."

"Yes. _We_ made that choice. And Piccolo made his: To be loyal to his thoughts first-and the Kaio, second."

Dende averted his glance again.

"Other than this lone penance you have given yourself..." Kaioshin smiled, trying to inject the conversation with a lighter tone. "...How are matters on Chikyuu?"

"They are well. All is well. Not that I would know much," replied Dende. "I do nothing while Trunks and the others turn the planet into an empire."

"Exaggeration," Kaioshin said, waving a dismissive hand.

"Chikyuu is more developed, more populated, and richer than it ever was in its past."

Kaioshin turned to him. "And you say this as if it is a bad thing."

Dende pressed his lips over what was certainly going to be an acidic reply. The Shin-jin ran a hand over a stray, knobby root that broke the earth beside him.

"No war. No disease, no famine. No killing. No suffering. It seems that this agreement has made Chikyuu a mortal paradise. And all in calling the Saiya-jin gods in title. Who would have known? The great thing is that Trunks doesn't seem to mind all of the 'responsibility' of being a god."

"Perhaps that's because he thinks he can do a better job," Dende muttered.

And Kibito Kaioshin's face turned dangerous. "Some here would say you are overstepping with your comments, Dende."

"And some would say it is Trunks who treads over the Kaio without concern."

"Then I would advise you to choose wagging tongues more carefully," Kaioshin snapped, reaching the end of his kindness. "Why do you despise this arrangement?"

"Because it is a farce. The Kaio-shin are the only true gods. Trunks and his ilk lead with just as much fear as they do inspiration. They threaten, bribe, intimidate, and even kill to make Chikyuu into what it is slowly becoming."

"And that is?"

Dende paused. "...Their own personal Heaven."

Silence.

"These are very strong accusations," The Kaioshin's only betrayal of his emotions was the slight widening of his eyes. "Do you have evidence?"

"...No. No, I do not."

Kaioshin gave a small nod of his head. "Very well then."

Dende made a gruff sound, surprising to Kaioshin when juxtaposed to his collected disposition. The Kami stood up, bowing.

"I take my leave of you, My Lord. Sorry to have disturbed you."

Kaioshin hesitated, then turned. "I understand your concern, Dende. But Trunks has been nothing but honorable to us."

Dende met Kaioshin's eyes with his own flinty gaze.

"The Oracles foretold the return of Son Gokou, My Lord."

"Yes," The Shin-jin grinned warmly. "And his return shall be soon. Perhaps this is the reason behind the Oracles' song."

"Perhaps, Lord Kaioshin. Or perhaps, it is a warning."

It was getting harder and harder to slip past the guards that patrolled the block of improvised cells that his friend now called home. Even with elemental magic hiding his ki, body temperature, and his breathing, Dende felt like the last centurion had seen him. He knew he was being ridiculous. Paranoid. But that's what this place did to you. Knocked you off-kelter.

He stopped suddenly, having reached his destination. Careful not to make any noise, he gathered his robes about himself and sat near the bars.

"So…let me guess. He told you no," said the low, sardonic voice.

Dende didn't answer. A sound that could have been a sigh came from the cell's shadows.

"They are not going to let me go. Especially if you keep with the criticism. Trunks is their boy, or at least they feel that way."

Dende closed his eyes. "Just let me try again, in a few days. I can get support from the other Kaio—I don't need Kibito Kaio's blessing."

"The other Kaio fall in line behind their leader, Dende," said Piccolo.

"I can't leave you here," Dende snapped. "I won't. You could at least be sent to Namek. The cloaking spell the Kaio have put on the planet means it will never be found by any normal means."

"No. No more. It's over, kid."

"Piccolo—"

"_No._ _More._" The note in his voice was impregnable.

There was a moment of stillness between them, and the last Kami of Chikyuu hung his head, defeated at last.

"Get out of here, Dende. I never want to see you here again. Ever," said the sad voice that had followed him from boy to man.

Dende had almost reached the gate when he heard the noise behind him. Skin against metal.

"Hello?" he said into the darkness. The prison cells in this area were mostly empty. (Kibito Kaio, aware of Piccolo's influence amongst Hell's inhabitants, had decreed the Namekian have an entire wing of the complex to himself.)

When there was no immediate reply, Dende lifted his hand to summon his power. He wasn't a fearsome fighter—Nail was always the soldier of his kin—but if he could get off a shot it would be enough for him to get away or alert a guard—

"You want to free your friend."

The voice was still disembodied in the pitch black of the cell block. Using the ki in his hand for a different purpose, Dende lit up the corridor just enough to spot the diminutive form huddled by an open cell door.

He took in the appearance, seeing the cloth that swaddled the stranger's face. "Who are you?"

"No one of consequence." He didn't speak Japanese, or Standard. Not natively anyway, Dende thought. The almond-shaped eyes and the lilt of divinetongue gave him away as a Shin-jin.

"You want to save your kinsman from languishing here. Why does it matter who I am?"

"All right then," replied Dende. "What do you want?"

"For the Chikyuu Pretenders to fall from Grace," the stranger answered. "That is all I ask, for the information I have."

"A tall order. How do I know this information is reliable, or useful to me?" He had to be careful, and to the point. If a centurion or anyone overheard their conversation...

"You do not support this sacrilege. Neither does your friend, the great warrior he is. He does not deserve to waste away here in the bowels of Limbo."

Dende's eyes narrowed. "You didn't answer my question."

A pause. "This is not the first time Lord Kaioshin had to deal with problems from the Saiyajin."

"What do you mean, 'not the first time'?" the Kami asked.

"I cannot tell you, this story must come from Lord Kaioshin's lips. When he has the courage to tell you, Guardian Dende, ask him. Ask him about the Brolli Directive."

_Next chapter: So many good deeds. So much to hide._


	16. Chapter 16: To Tell The Truth

_Author's note: Thanks again for reading! This, I have to say, is my least favorite chapter of the story...but it leads up to my MOST favorite chapter so far. So, be patient-things start to pick up, and very soon! Trunks and Yamucha can't play this game forever...or can they? :) Enjoy!_

Krillin swore, for the third time in the past hour, at the holopads spread about his desk. This morning the Council had forwarded the declarations sent by the temporary government of Mjisranth, one of Arbatsu's former mining outposts, requesting recognition by Chikyuu as its own sovereign planetoid. In his last visit there, he had advised the unregistered colony's fledgling politicians to 'leave out no detail' in their petitioning. The Mjisranthian parliament had sent 2,471 declarations.

"They told me you were busy."

Krillin didn't look up at the voice's source, still enthralled by the mass of screens. He made a noise of acknowledgement. Yamucha strode from the doorway to stand over his friend's shoulder.

"And I see they weren't lying." The taller of the two whistled at Krillin's workload.

Sitting with his hands spread out on his desk, one holding his glasses, the monk's loud sigh filled the office.

"So much for a nice, calm evening at home," he said.

Yamucha made a face. "If I were you, I wouldn't look forward to telling Juuhachigou that you'll be working late. Again."

Krillin turned, frowning up at Yamucha. "Of course, you have the luxury of not being me."

Chikyuu's Lord Secretary of Informational Exchange walked away to the nearby vista, pouring himself a short glass of brown liquid. He paused, and then filled another.

"Feel like quitting, Mr. Foreign Affairs Minister?"

Krillin's jaw bounced at the word _quitting. _"You always say that. And I always say that I-"

"-Keep my promises, I know," Yamucha echoed his friend, his voice chiding yet kind. "But lately this is a lot of work for you, considering."

"'Considering'?"

"...That you're not young anymore, Krillin. Neither of us are," Yamucha handed him a glass. "You are a grandfather now, twice over. You have your leg, your health to think about. Not just nights of sitting at home ogling your beautiful wife."

Krillin smirked, knowing his mentioning of Juuhachigou was meant to rile him. "Didn't realize you were that jealous, Yamucha."

He snorted, taking a sip from his cup. "This is not jealousy talking here."

The seated of the two paused. "When we first started it was fun. Jet-setting off to different planets, meeting new races and cultures. There were lots of people, all types, that needed help. They saw us and they wanted to be like us. To be free from whatever dictator, or alien monster, or mystical creature they had plaguing their lives."

"No one is ever satisfied with just a taste of liberty," Yamucha nodded as he spoke.

Krillin's voice faltered. "But now...now I'm schmoozing with politicians. I used to help build hospitals, schools. Now I'm having breakfast with kings. What happened, Yamucha? We had a mission: To spread peace. To spread Gokou's ideals. What happened?"

Yamucha held Krillin's eyes. "Mission complete."

If Krillin had a reply, he didn't offer it.

"Yep...Mission complete," Yamucha repeated. "Maybe we should just be happy. Just live our lives."

"Maybe. If we didn't have so much to hide." answered Krillin.

Yamucha had formed his lips to speak when an attendant rushed through the double doors.

"Lord Secretary—Your Graces..." The servant was gasping as if he had ran the length of the Capital building.

"What has happened?" Krillin asked, seeing the harried nature of the man's stance.

"It's Lady Pan...She has awakened."

"When? How?" Yamucha was asking the Medical Chief, walking briskly. Krillin cursed roundly behind him, and finally focused his ki and began to levitate just above the ground. He politely refused the Med Center attendant that offered him a hover chair.

"Just under three hours ago. Lady Pan came to consciousness inside the tank. No one wanted to say for certain until Her vitals reached levels consistent with Her medical profile. Apparently, She is communicating with the doctors and specialists on staff."

"'Apparently'?" Yamucha bristled. "I waited until we reached Med Center for a real-time evaluation of her state—You mean to tell me you have not seen her directly?"

"...No, Your Grace."

"Where is Trunks? Gohan, Videl?" asked Krillin, now flanking his friend.

"His Lord Firstborn and Lady Videl are en route from their villa on Madran. His Lord Second-born travels with Them," the Medical Chief hesitated.

"And Trunks?" Yamucha pressed.

"His Holy Lord the Throne-son is here, Your Grace."

They reached the secured level of Med Center, and a quick bio-scanner opened the door before them. Trunks stood, speaking in low tones with a team of Madrani, Arbatsu-jin, and Chikyuu-jin clothed in the white and blue cloths of their profession. Trunks quickly looked up at the sound of the door opening, the medical staff bowing and retreating.

"Yamucha," he uttered, and the older man crossed the room as fast as Krillin could blink, placing a comforting arm around the young Saiya-jin.

"Is everything all right?"

Trunks nodded in acknowledgment to Krillin before responding. "They have moved her to Rehab status. She is up and talking."

Krillin smiled. "The best news I've heard all day."

"They just sent in an attendant, one of Gohan's he left behind to deliver word of her condition while he took Videl to Madran," Trunks saw the confused look in Yamucha's face. "Videl...doesn't do well in space for long periods. Otherwise, he would have stayed himself."

Yamucha gave a brief nod. "According to the Med Chief, they should be here within the hour."

"Heads up," Krillin said, and all three turned their attention to the young man, dressed in the purple and black shades of his masters, that now stood in the center of the room.

"Lady Pan first conveys Her gratitude to the staff at Med Center for Her successful recovery," the attendant placed his hands behind his back. "She looks forward to seeing her Father the Divine Firstborn and Her lady mother once they arrive and get settled."

"I will tell her how thankful we truly are, to have her back," Trunks, his eyes bright, took a step towards the attendant, about to pass him.

"...My Lord Trunks..."

Trunks looked down at the source of the voice, now small and jittery.

"...My Lord, I apologize...But Lady Pan has asked that no one see Her until Lord Gohan and Lady Videl arrive."

Trunks' beaming grin faded in an instant. Yamucha stiffened.

"...What?" came Trunks' voice, incredulous.

The attendant blinked his shadowed eyes. "I can only do as commanded."

"She wants to see her family first, Trunks." Krillin's voice had a tone of caution.

"I am her _husband_," Trunks replied in embarrassed anger. "I _am_ her family."

The monk looked up at his life-long friend. Yamucha nodded, and stepped towards Trunks.

"Trunks...do not take this as offense."

The Throne-son arched a brow, his nostrils flaring. "How should I 'take' it, Yamucha?"

Yamucha looked at the gathered attendants, a silent command in his eyes. They all bowed, and turned away. Once more, he put an arm on Trunks' shoulder, guiding him towards the foyer.

"She does not seek to undermine you."

"And yet she does. Faithful husband, who spent sleepless nights watching her recovery, denied entry to her bedside?!" Trunks spat, his voice raising with every syllable.

"Calm yourself," Yamucha's tone was half-pleading. "There is more at stake here. Remember what the Yardrat elders said about trauma and memory." His voice was a whisper with the last few words.

Trunks froze. And one of the attendants, not close enough to hear the conversation but having a good vantage point, would have sworn that the Holy Son of the Throne went pale.

"Indulge her," Yamucha held the young Saiyajin by the back of his head, pressing their foreheads together. "Ply her with expressions through the mouths of others. Continue to be as faithful as you have been. We will find her reasons soon enough."

"And if...if she..." Trunks, in a move so unlike him, chewed on the inside of his lips. "...Do you think she-"

"No," Yamucha cut him off. He looked back to Gohan's attendant. "I do not. Honor her wishes. Seek caution and see reward."

The two men were silent for the swiftest of moments. The attendant from before cleared his throat to speak.

"My Holy Lord Trunks, I beg for Your apology...If you wish for me to inform Lady Pan that You come to see Her-"

"...No," Trunks uttered, his face now relaxed. "It is fine."

Yamucha turned, falling into eye contact with Krillin. They held each others' glances, as if one were daring the other to look away.

"Could you convey my joy and the happiness we all feel...to my wife?" Trunks looked down at the floor. Gohan's attendant bowed.

"Yes, My Lord Throne-son." He exited the secured deck.

"So many good deeds," Krillin said under his breath, turning to the foyer. "So much to hide."

__

Next chapter: "Everything you have in this life...is because I _**say**__ you have it._


	17. Chapter 17: Coming Home

_Author's note: So many views this week-Thank you, readers! Well, remember last week when I said that "To Tell The Truth" was my least favorite chapter, and this is my favorite? Well, I kind of lied...this is my favorite chapter BEFORE the next two-part story arc...where many interesting things happen. But for now, here's this one, renamed and re-mastered. Reviews are welcome, questions, comments...thanks for reading and enjoy!_

"...A magic spell is nothing more than information being sent from one point to another. Much like communication. Imagine being able to send messages through environmental interference without lagging, without loss of reception. To execute delicate research operations with drones in a completely different sector of the universe with 100% accuracy. To perform surgery on patients too remote to seek care in a major city or colony."

Trunks turned, taking a moment to nod past the holo-deck as his intelligence consort ushered in his next guest.

"This technology...it is attractive, My Lord Throne-son. But at least here on Arbatsu-sei..." The merchant executive gestured to the men that sat around him, who grunted in agreement. "...It seems to be far more advanced than we can manage at the moment."

"And alchemy, while engaging as a hobby My Gracious Holy Lord, is not something even the most liberal-minded on our planet would attempt to use in that manner," offered another, his jowls quivering as he spoke.

Trunks smirked as he met the cold eyes of the man standing nearest the wall, away from the blue glow of the holographic board meeting.

"Friends! It is like I told you before," he responded, keeping his gaze steady. "Success is not born from fear of the unknown, but the pursuit of it. And as for advancement... At Capsule, a light year is but one day."

The young Saiyan picked up a console, sliding long graceful fingers across as different blueprints flared to neon-colored life in the air in front of him.

"These are the latest analytics, courtesy of the young ones at Capsule Educational Exchange. The bulk of this work was their 'graduation project,'" he said, chuckling.

The holo-deck teemed with gasps and exclamations of wonder. Trunks let his eyes dart again to his visitor.

"Take your time, I'll be sending the finalized versions by data-shuttle in the coming days. Now gentlemen, I must cut this short. I have a full day—the last part of which I look forward to with much gladness."

"Yes, of course My Lord," the first executive bowed graciously. The others, quieting down, followed suit.

"Good day, everyone." Trunks deactivated the holo-deck. The shapes and shades of the Arbatsu Commerce Ministry faded, leaving a faint cyan haze behind. The Throne-son smiled, holding out his hand.

"Juunanagou, I'm glad you came."

The raven-haired man grunted, stacking his forearms behind his back like a soldier awaiting orders.

"My apologies about the delay. The meeting went over quite a bit. The Arbatsu-jin regime, while loyal, are quite the luddites when it comes to new technology. You'd think they weren't space-faring at all."

Juunanagou almost snorted. "Well, what can one say regarding 'the company of fools'?"

Trunks laughed in return, sitting in a chrome-colored chair. He saw the cyborg's cool glance go to a large screen that faced them both on the opposite wall of the spacious Capsule conference room.

"What's that?" his guest asked.

"Oh, that? Nothing," Trunks moved a hand over the holo-deck console and the projectile-shaped image faded to black. "Just some new things I'm working on. Prototype phase."

Juunanagou made a noise of assent, shifting his stance. The two men let their eyes meet.

"I know you are the type to appreciate straight talk, so I'll just say why I called you," Trunks leaned back in his seat, crossing his foot over his knee. "I need you on Serulia."

A pause. "...When?" Juunanagou asked.

"As soon as you can get there," Trunks answered.

"Why?" The second question dropped thick, like a stone in a pond.

Trunks took a breath. He stood up, lazily circling his chair in an aimless pace.

"I think you know why, Juunanagou. Serulia's transition of sovereignty has already begun. Capsule and Madran have been working to aid the government in its settling of foreign debt and open transactions. It is coming along smoothly, but at the same time an intergalactic tribunal is being assembled for Seiben's trial. Since he is the first alien diplomat to be arrested on Chikyuu and charged with a crime, it is only fair that the Council allow for a jury of his peers to determine his fate."

"They put a hole through your wife's chest. Left your best friend almost having to defecate through a tube for the rest of his life," The cyborg's voice lowered two full octaves. "And you really want to give them the dignity of a trial?"

And the usual gleam in Trunks' eyes hardened. "...No."

He looked away, putting his fist to his lips. Juunanagou had seen the look on the man but a few times. It was a tic he exhibited when he wanted to punch something.

"If I were my father...I would have broken Serulia apart. And killed their people to the man." Trunks' voice was a whisper, as if speaking the words could make it happen in reality.

Juunanagou waited, turning his head but not daring to avert his gaze. He felt the healthy swell of ki from the young man in front of him, could hear the heat rising like a dull roar, churning with chained emotions. Trunks stood silent for another moment, and then seemed to physically relax. And finally, his voice found him once more.

"...But I am not my father," he said. "And we are not a new Saiya-jin Empire, Juunanagou. We do not destroy worlds or races or cultures: We buy them."

"And so you need me on Serulia to make sure the 'purchase' goes well," the cyborg rejoined.

"I would go myself, but that would be too much. And I have been gone enough as is," Trunks mused. "I thought about sending Krillin, but I couldn't. He has your sister, Marron, grandchildren. And his health to think of. Yamucha and Goten both rub Serulians the wrong way, and I need them here anyway. Bra...no. I need someone there who I can trust, someone they will tolerate. Someone for whom they have a lot of respect, and..."

Juunanagou raised his brows as Trunks trailed off. "...Fear," he finished for his charge. "You want someone they fear."

Trunks locked gazes with him. "Serulian intelligence knows who you are, and what you do. Plus, you're a meta-human. They don't really know _what_ you are capable of."

Juunanagou suddenly felt restless, and let his feet take him away from the Throne-son. He threaded his hands behind his nape in a boyish pose, pulling them tightly around corded muscles underneath the suit of arms that Yamucha had insisted he now wear every day.

"What about Gohan? Why me, and not him?"

Silence. And the cyborg cut his eyes to look back at Trunks.

"His daughter just recovered. His wife is not well," Trunks replied. "I can't ask him to leave now."

The answer came from a steady voice, but Juunanagou could sense the shaking tension from Trunks' hands as he spoke.

"Serulia has condemned Seiben, stripped him of title and rank. They have cut all ties with his house," Juunanagou put his attention to a large office window. "They want people to think he planned the attack single-handedly and without the Parliament's blessing."

Trunks stared intently. "And what do you think, Juunanagou?"

Juunanagou turned his nose like it met something unkind to his senses. "There are sayings in the galaxy about trusting the word of a Serulian. They set their beady little eyes on something they couldn't have, and now they've been caught with a hand in the candy jar."

Trunks nodded, smirking. "...Whenever you decide to leave, I will have a full attendant staff, one intelligence consort, and any needs from Chikyuu waiting for you. You have a cruiser allotted for the trip, and a private villa in Serulia City. Anything else you think you may need—luxury items, personal affects?"

"I didn't say 'yes' yet, Trunks," Juunanagou's voice lilted, the closest the cyborg would ever get to bemusement.

"Of course you haven't." Trunks had sat back down, elbows set on knees and hands clasped in front of his face. "Also, if you don't mind, I would like it if Yamucha didn't know about this."

The other man's brow furrowed. "...Yamucha doesn't know you are sending me?"

"I would prefer it if I was the one who told him. While he will miss your expertise, he will understand the importance of your mission."

Juunanagou paused.

"...No waiting staff. Just the ship's crew. Provide for me only hyperlink transponders, encryption equipment and surveillance tech. And you can keep your villa as well: I won't be using it."

Now it was Trunks' turn to frown. "Why not?"

"...Because I don't want them knowing where to find me."

Trunks eyed the man again in silence. Then, he stood up, and walked to Juunanagou, placing a hand on the cyborg's shoulder.

"I knew I was sending the right man." He looked over at the console once more. "I'm off. Going to see my sister, and then...I look into my wife's eyes for the first time in months."

Juunanagou bowed, and watched the Saiyan leave, his face carefully blank.

"You flew here?"

Bra lifted a silver cover from the trays of tea and food set down earlier for her brother's arrival. Trunks hadn't left the Serulian day bed he had flopped in. His suit wrinkled around the sleeves.

"It was refreshing, like a jog," he replied. He looked at Bra as she served him a snifter of wine.

"I haven't flown in...years. Since Poppa was still here."

"Hm," Trunks observed, raising his glass. "You should try to practice. Once it's gone, it takes ages to come back to you."

Bra laughed. "And give half of Chikyuu a heart attack? I'm surprised you got here without an entire arm of the military 'escorting' you the remainder of the trip."

Trunks smiled while still eyeing the snifter's dark liquid. He was lost in its sanguine depths when he finally noticed how quiet it had become. Bra was sitting across from his chair, watching him like a hawk.

"Trunks...did you really hear from Poppa?"

"Bra, of course I did-"

"The truth, Trunks. Please."

He pressed his lips together. And his sibling knew that look for what it was. An admission.

"Trunks-"

"Before you say anything," Her brother spoke, sitting upright. "Understand that the Rikau-seijin had to be coerced to give me the evidence I needed against Seiben. They probably have more still. Our father's name is the only thing they respond to hearing."

"Goten told me you had a plan...I didn't think it was flat out lying to trillions of people." Bra hissed.

"It wouldn't be our first time, now would it, Bra?"

And the Holy Daughter of the Throne chose not to answer.

"Enough about that. You called me here, which is why I flew instead of waiting for a motorcade." Her brother stretched his legs out, sliding his boots along the marble tile.

"And I wouldn't want to waste any more of your time," Bra remarked dryly. "This is simply...a discussion about our terms of agreement."

Trunks grinned, almost chuckling. "Oh? And what are these 'terms', I've seemed to forgotten them."

"What they have always been, Trunks. After the Arjunians I stepped up as intergalactic figurehead of Capsule. While you presently prance around with Madrani and Farolians and the like, it was I who blessed you with the clean and charming image that Capsule—indeed, this entire family—now enjoys throughout the known universe."

Trunks' grin did not fade. "True. Go on, my dear sister."

"After Capsule had established itself, you took the reins back from me. I retired here to West Castle, and I was glad of it. I sat waiting for the moment you would need me again. And then Pan was attacked. And once again, I helmed the company when you were not able."

"An act for which you will always have my gratitude. It was not an easy task, and as I have said to the state press and the Council, you were a superb leader in my absence." Trunks stood, refilling his glass as he spoke.

"Finally, this last performance at the Council Hall. I had no idea what to expect, but I knew that whatever the outcome looking divisive would be to our detriment," Bra's eyes narrowed with pensiveness. "Despite what I now know, I would say that I have more than fulfilled my duties to you as a sister, to my planet, and to the furthering of Capsule's interests."

"And I would agree, completely," added Trunks, now leaning towards her on the day bed.

"Chikyuu will be protected from those who would want to destroy her. Terrorists have been brought to justice. We strengthen our hold on the interplanetary markets, as well as increase our reach and influence through Serulia and its territories."

"And now, you want something in return." her brother concluded, meeting her eyes.

She looked up at Trunks. "Yes. I have played my part, and I have played it well."

Trunks paused. Then he grinned again. "It is not for me to ever doubt your resolve. What would you like, my darling sister?"

Bra's eyes became distant. "There is only one thing in existence that I want."

Trunks observed the look on her face. "...If that is the case, I thought you already had it well in hand."

Bra didn't reply.

"Has he chosen another bed to lie in?" Trunks pressed.

"No. He still visits when he can. When the harpy lets him out," Bra replied.

"Harsh words, for someone so removed from you." Trunks pointed out.

"She insults me at every turn. She does what she can to undermine everything that our family has done for her—that _you_ have done for her." Bra spat through gritted teeth. "If it wasn't for your words to the public she would have been as ostracized as her father for all the lies he told and the wealth he stole...all from the family of the man she calls 'husband'."

Trunks was silent, an unreadable expression on his face as Bra raved on.

"We all walk on eggshells in her presence. We are considerate of her age and her 'condition'. When the real culprit is her own hypocrisy. Nervous breakdown? The only nerve that broke, finally, is the one impinged on whatever self-effacing, delusional tripe her family used to justify years of hiding the truth...and she uses that addled and selective mind of hers to control everyone around her."

"Well," said Trunks after a moment of quiet tension. "Tell us how you _really_ feel."

Bra, eyes focusing onto a point on a faraway wall, nodded. She picked up a glass and took an unladylike gulp.

"I have the suspicion that you didn't call me just to vent."

Bra hesitated, and then...slowly, carefully...threaded a hand through her brother's.

"What happened to Pan took a toll on all of us. Her parents and Goten most of all...I know that Videl was being kept in a private villa on Madran. Her health is fading. It has been for many years now. But maybe...her daughter's brush with death is what tipped the scales."

"Bra-" Trunks began.

"We can say it was stress from the oncoming conflicts with Serulia and the Arjunians. Or that it was an accident," His sister was looking away. "Hell, we can even say she did it to herself."

"No, Bra."

Trunks took both of Bra's hands in his. He started to speak, but thought better of what he was planning to say and chose to run a finger through his sister's loose blue hair.

"You know anything you ask of me is yours. And that I would do anything for you," he started.

Bra nodded.

And her brother tapped his finger on her tiny nose with each syllable as he said: "...Except _that_."

He rose from his seat, while Bra still sat stunned. She shook out of her stupor.

"Look at me and tell me she's not a danger, to herself and to all of us!"

"She's an old woman! And she hasn't posed a political danger to me in years. Nor any to you. _Look_ at you," Trunks guided his sister's face to a nearby mirror. "What woman could possibly compete with you? Her husband has obviously made his choice."

But Bra's eyes went flat and hard. "He will not leave her."

Trunks' jaw worked as he searched for words. "You knew what you were getting into, the moment you started with him."

"Of course. Forgive me," Bra's words dripped with bitterness. "I thought your loyalty lay with _your_ blood, not someone else's."

Now it was her brother's turn to give a stony expression. "My loyalty lies where it always has—to this family, this planet, and our mother and father's legacy."

"So we are all 'family' now, are we?"

"Yes. Whether you agree or not," he answered. "The moment I married Pan, the two families became one. My responsibility is to her blood as well as mine. And I will not see everything we have done go to nothing on accord of you and a desire you cannot fulfill."

The two siblings stared each other down, the room coming to a silent stalemate.

"I thought I had someone on my side," Bra hissed. "Here's to hoping your little wife remembers her last trip to a regen tank."

Bra turned away, walking toward the fine bottles on her silver lounge tray. Trunks watched her retreating form, closing his eyes. When he opened them, the look in his pupils ever so slightly darkened.

He took brisk steps behind Bra and, before she could react to his proximity, became a blur. The entire castle shook to its sturdy marble and Shikaji-steel foundations as he slammed his sister into the nearest wall. The impact was such that a normal Chikyuu-jin would have been unconscious. Bra made a high-pitched noise of surprise. He put his hand on her throat—a loose grip, but the message was clear.

"Now you listen to me, you selfish little child..." Trunks spat.

"Trunks—!"

The doors to the chamber swung open, and three attendants, led by Hana, breathlessly flowed into the room. And behind them, several guards stood with weapons drawn. Hana absorbed the situation, and took one step forward.

Trunks simply cocked his head to the side. "Leave."

No one moved. The guards lowered their plasma rifles, looking at one another. Hana locked eyes with her Mistress. Bra struggled to keep the fear off of her face.

And Trunks...slowly...took the hand that seized his sister's neck and turned it towards the door. His outstretched palm carefully morphed into a closed fist, and he stuck out his index finger.

A tiny sparkling light played on the tip.

"Leave," The voice deepened in its tenor.

At his command Hana visibly shook, and after one last look at Bra, bowed. The room emptied once more.

And all this time, Trunks never broke his gaze that lay bare his sister's face.

"Everything you have in this life...is because I _say_ you have it," The Throne-son began.

He fell silent suddenly, and his sister's hitching breath was the only sound in the room.

"...I have known about you and Gohan for a long time. You are good at keeping secrets, Bra. But your lover is not: The men of the Son family have never been good liars. I have almost always known."

Moving his hand towards Bra's face, he frowned even deeper when he saw her flinch. He placed it on her forehead, pushing her hair back from her cheek.

"I turned a blind eye, all this time, because it made you happy. And I thought you wouldn't...you wouldn't allow yourself to come to this point. But I can see my line of logic was far off. And I made a mistake."

Trunks whipped away from where she still stood against the wall, quickly turning his back.

"A mistake that I will be correcting, effective immediately," His steps were slow, cold. "You are to leave this castle when you are summoned and not for a moment otherwise."

And a pit fell out in the bottom of Bra's stomach. "No..."

"I will be installing Capsule standard-issue surveillance equipment, and recommissioning all of your personal guard to replace them with my own." He ran his finger over the rim of a nearby vase. "All of this will happen in the next 72 Chikyuu hours."

"...No..." Her voice became more firm, even though she shrank as her knees buckled.

"Yes. And Gohan is to never have an audience here, alone, ever again," he finished.

His body started to lift from the ground, rotating in air to where his upper body led his feet towards the balcony of the room.

"I'll tell everything."

A pause, and Trunks turned back around to see his sister, now standing with her hand braced on the marble wall. Behind her form there was a small, light indentation where he had pushed her. His eyes lingered there for a moment, then focused back on the blue-haired woman speaking to him.

"I will tell everything," she repeated, voice thick with tears. "About the Arjunians. About the war. About Pan. About Gokou and Poppa and Momma. I will tell everyone. _Everything. _I will tell them the truth!"

Trunks stared for what seemed like hours. Then he simply hovered closer to the curtains, catching some the billowing fabric in his hands.

"I am their God, Bra. I _am_ their Truth."

Bra's eyes dilated, her already pale skin issuing a second burst of white. Trunks turned his face towards the setting sun.

"And if I ever hear you speak of this again," he whispered, tightening his grip on the curtain. "I will come back and burn this place down to the ground while you watch."

He flew up and out, never looking back.

The crowd at the Daishenkan was dense, and it didn't hold the air of a formal gathering like the Council Hall. Instead, politicians walked around where merchant union leaders could whisper in their ears, and diplomats drank their fill of whatever the attendants offered. Intelligence consorts congregated in dark corners, possibly sharing information or gleaning it from foreign sources. What form of relevant data could be gained from a place so loud, Yamucha didn't know. He stood alone with his hands on the balcony railings, overlooking the podium where the hyperlight commlink was being set up—Tonight, Pan would address the public for the first time in months.

"A wonderful idea, to have the speech here."

Yamucha didn't turn at the voice, merely craned his neck to get a better view of the center stage.

"Yes, I am lucky to have had Krillin helping me with all the arrangements. Especially considering how long it took me to calm everyone down today."

Trunks frowned, leaning on the railing beside him. " 'Calm everyone down' ?"

Yamucha finally cast a sideways glance at the Throne-son. "That little stunt you pulled going to West Castle?"

"Ah!" Trunks exclaimed, realization dawning upon him. "Was it that bad?"

"Bairsh said the generals in the East, West, and South Quadrants wanted to go to threat level Omega Three. Don't tell me you didn't notice every press vehicle for fifty miles following you."

Trunks mustered up enough to look guilty, but humor still shone in his eyes.

"At least we know military response is up to par," he said.

"What happened at your sister's, anyway?" Yamucha asked.

"...Nothing. Nothing that I couldn't handle," Trunks replied, turning his back on the stage area below. "Her personal affairs have run amok, and I reined them back to the farm."

Yamucha's lips pressed together before he spoke. "So you 'forbade' her to ever breathe in his direction again, I take it."

Trunks was silent. The crowd flowed around them, drowning out their conversation to anyone but the closest ears.

"You didn't know that I knew, did you?"

"...All the more disturbing is that you didn't tell me," Trunks muttered, anger at the edges of his voice.

"I wasn't aware of how Gohan was spending his free time until well after you knew. I figured it was better to let sleeping dogs lie than to rile you."

The Throne-son set his jaw, nodding. "It doesn't matter now. It's over."

Yamucha shook his head and sighed.

"Her brother, or her father, Trunks. One or the other—you can't be both."

The younger man issued a harsh laugh, letting it die down to a chuckle. He stopped as Yamucha turned to him, meeting his eyes.

"It's true. You can't be both. And if you try...if you try...it _will_ come back to haunt you."

The words sent a slight prophetic chill through Trunks' bones.

A tense second rolled by, then Yamucha's attention snapped back to the podium.

"She's starting," he said.

Both men turned their focus to the center floor.

"Ladies and gentlemen here tonight on Chikyuu...and everyone watching all around the galaxy...I want to thank you," she said, turning on her heel as she spoke. "For all of your support, and all of your prayers and kindness."

Son Pan let her gaze pierce the hyperlight comm the intelligence consorts stacked in front of the podium. She had almost forgotten how intense the coaching sessions could be for these. Hours before, she had made a sheepish entrance into the Daishenkan, expecting the type of reprimand from her advisors that a child would expect from their school teacher. But the group of them had just bowed, and presented her with a detailed account of where the universe was and how it had moved politically since the night a hole had been blasted through her body.

The scarring was minimal. It didn't matter. Despite how many of these speeches she could do, would do, in the years to come, Pan would always feel that everyone could see right to her core.

"The outpouring of love and friendship that I have experienced for myself and my family is something I will truly never forget. Just like one cannot forget the state of things...As I believe I must address you on the topic of loyalty, I also must address your doubts."

The crowd felt as if it was holding its collective breath as Pan spoke.

"The Arjunian Threat is real. They are returning to our galaxy, they are maneuvering. And they will attack again, of this I am sure," said Pan, pausing as the crowd in the Daishenkan started to hum with concern. "Our ability to protect ourselves is only limited by our willingness to educate each other and work together."

There was loud applause all around, and Pan looked up to meet piercing blue eyes on the center balcony. He hadn't joined the Councilmen on the main floor. He stood half behind a pillar, as if he was...afraid she would look at him?

She breathed deeply, waiting for the raucous to die down, and continued her speech.

The people had been ushered out briskly; even the intelligence consorts that liked to hang back in dark corners, still not satisfied with the amount of gossip done earlier in the night. In less than forty-five minutes, the Daishenkan was empty of all but one.

She ran a hand on the center emblem where she sat, her legs monotonously swinging like a child's above the circular fountain. The design was elegant, bold in the hues of black, red, purple and blue. And in the center, the Two Dragons twisted around one another, not dueling...and yet not giving one inch to each other.

They took up the majority of the image with their winding bodies. One was black, carved of the darkest obsidian the artists could find, probably. The scales were distinguished from one another with fine lines of diamonds. Its teeth held oak and ore, symbols of both war and industry. It stared into the eyes of the other great serpent. Its twin, golden all over, long tusks buried in the shell of a turtle, faced his other half not with a snarl. But with the closest the fearsome beast could come to a small open-mouthed smile.

"...Captures them perfectly, doesn't it?"

The baritone almost made Pan jump, her legs stopping their endless movement. She had thought everyone gone...she should have known better. She looked up at her husband with a neutral face.

"If there was ever a time either one of them cared about art, I'm sure they would appreciate it."

Trunks chuckled. "My father was not one to frequent museums, that is certain."

"No. A man like him would be bored too quickly," agreed Pan. "Not to mention Grandfather. All his concern would be in the Daishenkan's banquet hall."

They both laughed. The noise was hesitant. And it died before the echoes of it left the rafters.

Silence.

"Trunks-"

"Why won't you come home, Pan?"

Her face reddened, and she turned away. Trunks pressed forward with both his steps and his words.

"Why won't you come home? To _our_ home?" His voice was almost pleading.

"I wanted to spend time with my mother, Trunks. She's doing better, but between the wedding and the attack at the festival she hasn't seen me in months."

"You are avoiding me."

It was not a question. And Pan didn't bother trying to deny it.

"Pan," Trunks called her name as she looked away again . "I did not leave your side for weeks after you were put in stasis. And even after I came back to Capsule, I still saw you every week."

It was true. Pan had heard the whispers of the servants at her mother's villa on Madran. How the Throne-son had forsaken food and water to watch her day and night as she lay at Death's door. But still...she couldn't just...

"You asked for me to keep my distance. And I have," Trunks was saying. "I let you come back to Chikyuu with Gohan and Videl, amidst all of the talk. Talk about how wife was shunning husband, punishing him for...for what?"

"I think you know, Trunks."

Cold sweat seized the Throne-son at Pan's words.

"All these years have passed, and you still aren't honest about what you and Yamucha are really doing. What you have done."

"P-pan..." Trunks stammered through his words. "You are confused. You don't know everything-"

She cut him off mid-sentence. "I know enough."

Trunks lowered his head, unconsciously holding his breath.

"Why are you and the Kaio keeping Piccolo prisoner? Why? Just because he doesn't agree with you and Yamucha making us all gods?"

Imperceptible to Pan, Trunks made a small sigh of relief. A moment passed, and when he turned his eyes back up to look at his wife, they sparkled in the dim torch-lit temple.

"...I'm sorry, Pan. I thought you would know, but...you are just like your grandfather. He never assumed the worst in people, either."

The Holy Throne-son walked to the nearest large window, looking at the starry night. The crest on his suit of arms spilled small halos of light on the marble dais.

"Piccolo betrayed his oath to the Kaio to stay out of Chikyuu's affairs. They gave him a choice. Stay on the planet and be kept in isolation, or leave with Uubu, Tien and the others. He chose to stay."

"He chose his home. Chikyuu is his home," was Pan's retort.

"It is also his responsibility, as it says in the oath of service to the Kaioshin, to not take action against the will of the Kaio nor involve himself directly in the governance of the galaxy."

Pan leaned against the dais behind her, the snout of the Dark Dragon statue hovering near her left ear.

"It still doesn't make it right...he is our friend. Fought alongside our fathers. Sacrificed his life time after time-"

"I know everything that you know about him, Pan," Trunks cut into her words. "I went to Dende and asked him if I could help smooth over the situation. But Kibito Kaioshin would not be moved. They said that he was a threat to the new peace."

"...The peace that we made. When we were made gods."

Trunks paused. "Yes. When Yamucha, the Kaio and the Council made us into gods. I tried to talk to Dende. Do you know what happened next?"

Pan shook her head.

"...Neither do I," said Trunks. "That was the last time we spoke. Dende left the Lookout and never came back. And he took the dragonballs with him."

"How do I know you are telling the truth...not just your version of it?" Pan asked, trying her best to stay guarded.

"You know it is the truth. Because if it wasn't," he walked behind her, speaking in tones low enough for only her ears. "If it wasn't, then wouldn't Dende and the Kaio go to your father? Wouldn't they have come to _you_?"

She shook her head, this time to clear up the fog that had suddenly filled her mind. She leaned even more on the dais.

They were both silent for a few breaths more before she spoke.

"...She said, when she got sick, that she wanted to be as close to Grandpa as she could in the end. By then, Great Gran was dead, so we thought of sending her into space."

Trunks realized that his wife was talking more to herself than him. He stayed, looking uncertain of what to do next.

"But Father said...it would be too lonely. And Chikyuu is...was...her home. So we agreed to keep her here. To bury her in the forest. Simple. Only it wasn't."

The Throne-son moved closer, frowning. "We had to keep the media from knowing anything."

"Yes. From knowing that she was dead. Which was surprisingly easy. You know she hated all of this. She hated any kind of attention, but it was more than that. She was an Old Believer. The people in her mountain village worshipped the Kaio. She thought..."

"...That we were blasphemers." finished Trunks.

"She kept to herself a lot. I think my father blamed himself for not knowing until it was too late. Not knowing about the cancer." she paused. "When the time came, you said that this was best. And that here, we could all visit her and not forget her. I think that is what convinced Father. He didn't want to forget her, to leave her alone again."

She turned her back to Trunks, and he almost had to strain to hear her words.

"This," she touched the dais, her hand trembling and heavy. "...This is my grandmother's tomb. But we have to lie. We have to lie and say she 'ascended', that she is not really dead. But she is. She's right here. Cold. Alone. And I can't even pay proper homage to her. I can't even cry."

"Pan..."

"Was it worth it, Trunks?" she asked, unmoving. "To keep us safe, to defend Chikyuu, this pretty lie. Was it worth it?"

"Yes." The answer came without hesitation.

She shook even more, this time the quaking sank into her shoulders. And now, Trunks was right behind her.

"Pan, the festival," he said her name again. It sounded like he was praying. "I almost lost you that day."

She heard the faltering note in his voice. Her brow wrinkled. Was he...crying?

"Tell me this: Does this fake history change how wonderful we are, as a family? And that's what we are. A family. That is what we have been and always will be." He held her shoulders gently and turned her around. "And I will do anything to protect it."

"Trunks, you don't..."

"...'Love me'?"

She tried to hide her surprise as he finished her sentence. His self-effacing laughter echoed through the atrium.

"I thought us Briefs were supposed to be the know-it-alls. Pan-" he started, paused, and spoke again. "I knew you didn't want to marry me. I knew it. I proposed and you accepted because you wanted to be a good daughter. You wanted us—all of us—to stay together. You have the same sense of duty to our family as I have."

Her lips parted. What...what was this?

"It's something I have always admired in you. All the way back to the Black Star hunt. And travelling across the galaxy. And Baby. I've always seen it. And aspired to it."

"Trunks-"

"All my life I've been tailored, groomed...to lead. To take the helm of my family's company. There was no time to fall for just _any_ girl. No time...except to see things more clearly. To see what was right in front of me for years," he stated. "So maybe you are right. And maybe...you are wrong."

Everything was going differently than what she had expected. This was, was—she thought of her father's face, fighting the Arjunians. The eerie emptiness of the deserted Lookout that she had, almost on a whim, climbed up to explore many years ago. Vegeta and Bulma leaving Chikyuu, how sad Trunks had been as he pulled his sobbing sister from the launchpad.

As if reading her mind as one would read a book, Trunks wrapped his arms around hers.

"I've done many things. Some good, some not. I know you did not want to be a wife to me...but please...let me be a husband to you."

She looked into his eyes, ones that glittered now and swallowed everything around them, and lost herself.

And she kissed him.

_Next chapter: "We pay a price for freedom and safety. No matter who collects, the fee is the same."_


	18. Chapter 18

_Author's note: Ha! Another Re-write! So if you went to the original story's blog, you may notice the next chapter is different. I decided to change the order again, and edit some things out of the story. The two-parter will now be a three-part arc, in the interest of spicing things up. Enjoy!_

* * *

It was cold, even for winter in Farole. The cityscape didn't have that many lights to enjoy a view, except here and there where the nightlife hotspots sprouted signs in neon orange, yellow, and blue. The remainder of Shank Town, however, was dark. Residential buildings rose up beyond the central district, closing around and meeting where the rocky mountaintops loomed in the sky.

"Let's go already, man. I'm tired."

The voice was petulant, as expected from a 12-year-old. His friend was no older, the youth putting his hands behind his back.

"Whatever, Amal. I'm tryin' to wait for her."

"She's not coming," said the boy named Amal. "If she even exists. A girl from Stonewater wouldn't talk to you anyway. Wouldn't even give you the time of day."

"Shut up. I told you, she's real. And rich, too," The other boy looked around the rooftop.

"You said midnight. It's 0100 hours. She obviously stood you up."

"She said she had strict parents," came the reply. "They probably didn't let her go out, or somethin'."

Amal snorted. "That's code for, 'I don't wanna see you.'"

His friend had been craning his neck around, as if he expected his date to pop up between the narrow alley space between the housing facilities.

"You sure this isn't some girl you're stalking?" Amal teased, smiling cruelly.

The boy punched Amal in the arm. Hard.

"I don't have to stalk girls. Maybe _you_ do," he retorted.

Amal was the kind of boy who angered quickly. "Hit me again. See what happens."

Soon enough they were rolling around the roof, tussling and throwing wild punches and unconcerned about the noise they were making. What they should have been most concerned with was the rapidly approaching figure that was bounding through the air, its body whistling with speed.

It landed with a thud against the malleable steel rafters. Two lasers unfurled from its center, like intestines falling out of a severed abdomen. The lasers scanned and found the two young boys, who were now frozen in place. Amal's mouth was open in a gigantic, silent O.

There was a sizzle, a hiss of overheated circuit that came from the drone, a threatening war cry. Then a hollow, piercing ricochet…as two rounds hit it from the side.

She placed her weapon, unsupported, on the nearest beam. Climbing up almost leisurely, the woman smiled.

"Hi there," she said. "You were chasing _me_, remember?"

Amal and his friend suddenly regained the street senses two boys from the ghettos of Farole should have: They ran for cover. Jostling each other, Amal ducked behind a large cooling unit before daring to look back.

The young woman—lithe, masculine—was circling the drone, mimicking its clumsy robotic step with her own wide stance. She had her weapon back, but it didn't look like any gun Amal had ever seen. It was long and skinny, a metal pole, and in the inky night air he could just barely make out the handle and bolt chamber.

"Let's make this fast," the woman was saying. "I'd rather not deal with your buddies that were chasing me earlier—Just you."

As though it was reacting to the taunt, the thick insect legs rushed forward, lasers firing. Amal's friend gasped and covered his ears.

But the woman twisted to the side, out of firing range. She aimed the long pole, and it morphed in her hands, the skinny neck folding down onto itself. The barrel twisted and fired off a burst. The scattershot hit the drone, leaving small imprints of buckshot in its steel.

The robot staggered, but returned fire in kind. The woman was already moving, jumping behind an up-torn rafter that jutted out of the tarred roof. It was small, but so was she. Ample cover.

The machine surged left, trying to regain position. And she rushed in, making her way to an air vent.

She's not firing, Amal noticed, as another volley sailed over her head and the building's ledge.

Finally, the woman stood. And instead of rolling, she make a break-neck run for another tall vent. Not fast enough to out-run a security drone.

Amal tried to close his eyes in time, so he more likely heard, rather than saw, the three fatal blaster shots hit their target. She grunted, landing in the shadows behind a steel girder. The drone hesitated, then whirred forward to confirm the kill.

"She's dead," Amal's friend whispered sadly.

Its front leg seized the metal, pulling it back and making a horrible sound as it did so—

And found nothing.

The woman, with a yell from the drone's flank, jumped in the air. She had a small pen-light in her hands.

Amal realized it before he could mouth the words. "She's not tryin' to kill it! She's—"

She landed on the drone's back, the pen-light—a geo-thermal scalpel, the boys now saw—coming down onto its neck. The bot screamed as if it could feel the pain. Gritting, she wrapped her legs tighter around where she had saddled herself, wedging the scalpel in a joint-space and prying it to dislocation.

The drone thrashed about, its neck and tail straining and shooting stray laser bolts out of its line of sight. Missing its mark.

The crunching sound got louder and louder, then there was a _pop_, and the robot's legs gave out like wilted grass. The woman fell with it, rolling off its back.

Out of the cacophony, the woman stood, holding a baseball-sized sphere in her hand.

She smiled at it, nodding.

"You can come out now," she raised her voice to say.

Silence for a moment. Slowly, the two boys stood behind the cooler where they had hid, walking out with fearful steps.

The woman (who wasn't that old now that Amal could see her clearly) didn't even look away from the prize in her hand.

"What did you see?"

They were both struck dumb. She repeated her question.

"What did you see here, boys?"

This time, there was a little more impatience in her gruff tone.

"…Nothin'," answered Amal after a moment. "We didn't see nothin'."

And the woman replied, "Good answer," with a smirk.

* * *

"Phaizon Khri!"

The warehouse was one of Farole's few with easy air and sea access. With the usually choppy waves that accompanied the planets rainy season, it meant the meeting place Rakha had picked was easily defensible. She didn't have to wonder why he chose it. Farolian smugglers had a penchant for caution before violence. It attracted less attention. Not that the police cared, or made any arrests. There was a saying on Farole: On Farole, you are the thief, or you are the thief's customer. Phaizon stepped through the room, shifting her weight to one side as she moved. Cold stares bounced back at her. About 20 men. Some Madrani among them. Probably the "interested parties" Rakha had mentioned when he sent her on this wild goose chase. Other faces she knew, others looked like they had just walked out of grade school study hall.

All of them, killers.

She hooked her thumb in her belt and focused on the scraggly-bearded man that had called her name.

"It is good to see you made it," Rakha's thick accent sounded sugary sweet. "I trust it wasn't…_too_ difficult?"

"You said there would be 15 drones, new models, activated by Public Works today, with 10 on patrol."

Rakha looked perplexed. Smugglers were also good actors. "I did? How many were there?"

"… I counted 32. Can't be sure- I stopped counting when they started shooting."

"I see. And the tracking system?"

Phaizon hesitated, feeling eyes on her. She locked gazes with a Madrani, a big one, who hadn't stopped staring at her since she arrived. He stood up straight. Had tats on his hands. Former Madrani security forces. He was older, maybe 40 standard years. Didn't look like he was enjoying retirement.

Phaizon reached into her satchel, pulling out her prize from earlier. She tossed it to Rakha, observing his unadulterated joy at having such a thing in his possession. Farole was feeling the heat from neighboring colonies about its role in the market for counterfeit goods. The "Pirate's Paradise" had cheaper tech for sale, which was hurting profit margins. So they made a stink about it until Chikyuu stepped in. The new drones contained codes that could tag knockoff or stolen tech with a special resin illegible to the naked eye or run-of-the-mill scanner. Now that Rakha had one of the prototype drones, he could trick the system, or go tagging a competitor's merch as hot.

Phaizon frowned. More and more, Farole was being taken away by Chikyuu influence. Times were hard now, even for criminals.

"Very good," purred Rakha.

"Yes. And then comes my end."

Phaizon wasn't surprised when Rakha looked up from his new drone with a waxed-on, confused look. He wouldn't have been a true Farolian if he didn't try to renege on his word.

"Maybe you could come work for me instead, Little Sister. Safer work, and pays good, too."

"You can't afford me."

"I can offer you a 12% cut on my take from dicing halls—"

"I am too tired to want to shoot my way out of here, Rakha…" Phaizon began. During their back-and-forth, the older tattooed Madrani had moved to flank her.

One deft move, and the click of her rifle's hammer snapped through the quiet warehouse rafters.

"…But I will if I must," she finished.

Rakha paused. Finally, he smiled.

"Ambassador's sons pay good, no? Or are you working pro bono now?" he asked mockingly.

Phaizon didn't react. "The disc, Rakha."

He returned her frown this time, and exchanged a glance with one of his men.

Something to be said, Phaizon thought, of pirates and honor.

* * *

"Phaizon! Phaizon!"

The sound that had started off as faint buzzing in her ear was in fact, she realized, someone calling her name.

The young girl she approached—Arbatsu, from the look of her- jumped as she tossed the disc up into her grasp. Her fumbly hands caught the same before it hit her makeshift workbench.

"The second part of the encrypted data! What-?"

"Don't ask me," said Phaizon. "_Un-_encrypt it."

"Phaizon," came the nagging voice.

She chose to ignore it further, but the source bucked in front of her, out pacing her stride through the noisy clatter of their base camp.

"Phaizon, did they work?"

Silence.

"Phaizon, sir—I mean, madam…the upgrades on your rifle. Did they work?"

Phaizon eyed the boy, who couldn't have been any older than 16. His issued boots were too big for him. Despite this, compared to the majority of their recruits, he was an elder.

"I thought the revolving bolt chamber would change too slowly with the additions to the muzzle hydraulics—"

Phaizon looked at another soldier, one she recognized as a mechanic.

"…Who is this?" She asked the girl.

"He's Quenten. One of the new recruits," The mechanic answered, barely looking up from her work to speak.

"Ah. Right," Phaizon said. "The last bloke in your job got both of his hands blown off. Welcome to the Resistance."

She started to walk away.

"You should be giving me feedback! Reloading time, overheating, trigger fatigue…"

Phaizon turned, almost genuine in her annoyance.

"The damn rifle works, what do you want? A cookie?" She sighed. "This generation, always looking for approval."

"Phaizon," Another older one, a plasma rifle slung across his back, pointed up the stone steps behind him.

"Your weapon should be firing with less fatigue between rounds, with the muzzle hydraulics affecting chamber dialation. Admit it—it's the fastest it's ever been. Retraction time should be about .08 seconds less," Quenten was saying.

But Phaizon was looking up the steps as the artillery technician spoke. Finally, she drew the skinny chrome rifle and tossed it to him.

"The sights are off two points. Fix it," she said, distracted.

Without another word, she climbed the old stair to the alcove above.

Quenten looked on after her, then back to the mechanic.

"Don't worry. She's like that with everyone," said the girl, her voice deadpan.

* * *

The lift after the stone staircase was designed for the original inhabitants of the mill. A decrepit old Farolian sharecropper; and his wife, who had a wooden leg. Phaizon forgot how they came to have the house- the couple had died years before. Natural causes. Most of the others downstairs were newer additions to the fold and didn't know anything about the mill nor the couple. That was before even Phaizon's time. But she had heard tales about the old farmer, how he railed against backsliding Farolian politicians who considered allowing Chikyuu transport into orbit around the planet. He would curse them as cowards. Phaizon's lips curled into a small smirk. If the man was alive today, he'd be having a coronary.

The iron brake screeched to a stop, and she had to push open the wire gate with her hands to exit the lift. He was standing at the window, looking over the tar black treetops and early-morning fog. Having a cup of tea. He didn't move as she entered and flopped into the nearest chair.

"So you got the disc," he said, still turned toward the window.

"Mission accomplished, more or less."

"The tech team?"

"They're working on it now, but…"

He turned on his heel, the way Serulian aristocracy did when meeting a guest or leading a lecture on cultural anthropology. The only son of Seiben, the Serulian ambassador to Chikyuu—a man currently charged with treason and assassination. He was so young. Every time she saw this Young Seiben, she forgot how young he was.

"…But you don't think they will pull anything without the other parts of the data."

Phaizon shook her head. "We are still working on the third piece, but we really don't know where to start looking. Trail's run cold."

Young Seiben frowned. "Not reassuring. Have our comm and surveillance teams pool their resources. After Arjun, things get fuzzy. They can start from scratch."

"What do we have on your end?" asked Phaizon.

"…Our legal team got a hold of itineraries, transport routes from Rikon. That's it. We know where they go, where they stop—"

"But how do we get in?"

"Horse before the carriage, Khri," replied the Serulian. "We need the first encryption before we make any move on something as dicey as a data-shuttle."

"Well, we know where it is. And we _think_ we know what's on it," she said.

"The techies say the encrypted files recycle themselves when they run with the other parts of the data. More data, and the files recycle to nothing. We have one piece of three."

"The Blue Woman has the first piece, Seiben."

"Wrong," he answered, his eyes shining.

"Our people on the inside say it changed hands."

"To whose hands?" Phaizon quipped, skeptical as always. Young Seiben only smiled in reply. "Of course. Your White Knight."

She stood, her body tense as she walked to the window opposite Seiben.

"The Old Man hasn't betrayed us yet," he noted. "He told us they would be our way to win. He told us they were different. He's never wrong."

"There is no way to get to him—"

"The one person who, if we can get him on our side, would turn the tide of all of this. The strongest of them all," Young Seiben said, slight awe in his voice.

"We have no extraction plan—"

"Not to mention his daughter could clear my father's name! Phaizon, you must see—"

"—See that this is _suicide_!?" She exclaimed.

A pause.

"The Old Man has always been truthful, has risked so much," Seiben whispered.

"The same 'Old Man' who stood by while your father took the fall for a crime he didn't commit," Phaizon noted sharply.

"It doesn't matter. If Son Gohan is sympathetic to our cause…"

"The Resistance won't survive another raid, Seiben," Her voice was flat. Barring reproach. "If we let them in, and they turn on us…it's all over."

Seiben's next words were hesitant, tender. "I know…you have had bad experiences with Saiyajin in the past. But in war you have to take a risk to gain an edge."

"I don't believe in 'risk,'" answered the mercenary. Phaizon exhaled, watching her breath steam the glass pane. "How's your mother?"

"As well as could be expected," was Seiben's reply. "She sleeps. She eats. She sleeps again."

Phaizon never felt comfortable in conversations like these, so she just nodded, taking note of a metal briefcase near the door.

"What's that?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

Seiben smirked, feigning a sigh. "It's your pay, of course. For a job well done."

Phaizon looked at him, silent.

"You said you didn't work for free. I'm assuming that still true," Seiben rejoined.

The Farolian merc let her gaze turn to the case, and then back again, saying nothing.

"Give it to the new guy," she said finally.

"What? What new guy?"

Phaizon was already moving to the lift. "His name is Quenten. New artillery techie."

Young Seiben looked at her retreating form in the lift cage. Phaizon pressed a button, and it creaked to life.

"Tell him to buy more bullets," she yelled over the turning gears.

* * *

She was biting her nails.

Bra looked at her watch for the fifth time in the past hour. Her hair was down, tumbling over the front of her shift. She ran her hand through it—it hadn't been combed all day.

The familiar rush of wind, and Gohan stepped in through a stone window. Bra leapt from her seat, breath stopping in her chest.

"Why did you call me so late?" the eldest Son was saying as Bra plowed into his open arms. He pulled back, scanning her face. "...What is it?"

Bra shook her head.

"He knows," she whispered faintly.

Gohan paused. "...Trunks?"

As Bra nodded, the older Saiyajin paled.

"He says he has known for a while, he just...he just didn't say anything."

"So what...what is he going to do?"

Bra walked out of his embrace, turning away. She went to her work table, the only real furniture in the courtyard, and touched an envelope placed neatly over a blank notepad.

"I don't know," she replied, wiping her eyes and facing him again. "I can't see you anymore. You can't come here. They are setting up surveillance systems tomorrow."

"How did he find out? Did he say when?" Gohan's face was neutral, but his voice betrayed him.

She looked away. "Not sure," she said.

A pause. "That's it, then."

Bra started. "Gohan-"

"That's it, Bra," he said, more firm this time. "It's over. We can't do this anymore."

"Gohan, listen..."

"No. There is no room for that. This was...this was a mistake to begin with."

At those words, she shook her head. Tears were gathering in the corners of her eyes.

"You don't mean that. You don't," insisted Bra.

Rather than answer, Son Gohan glared, his sullen face a mix of guilt and anger.

"This is just him, overreacting." She walked fiercely to stand in front of him. "It will pass."

"I slept with his sister. This is not going to 'pass', Bra!"

"With Serulia, Trunks will rule the galaxy. No one can touch him, and he'll be so busy-"

Bra had grabbed his hands as she was talking, but Gohan pulled them away.

"This isn't sneaking around on school nights," the Firstborn took a deep breath. "This was going to happen sooner or later. Videl needs me, Bra. And this..." He gestured around the courtyard, half-afraid to include her in his swath. "This is not where I belong."

And Bra looked as if she'd been slapped.

"I understand." The reply was numb.

Gohan nodded slowly, and made a somber turn to the window he had entered through. Bra, her hair covering her lowered face, cast a glance over her shoulder, to the envelope on the table.

"He's been lying. This entire time. He's been lying."

"I know that, Bra," replied Gohan, his back still turned to her. "But as long as he and Yamucha-"

"No, Gohan."

He stepped back to look. Bra was holding glossy, monotone prints in her hand.

"...I didn't want this to happen, Gohan. I didn't."

She moved closer, holding the prints towards him.

Gohan took the dossier, frowning. "What is-"

"Something you should see," was all she would say.

* * *

_Next Chapter: Son Gokou is better off a myth. And we are better off...without him._


	19. Always Knew It Would Be This Way Part II

_Author's Note: More changes! Interesting trivia: I wrote this two years ago (along with the majority of this story so far) but I intended to place this particular scene AFTER the events of Part III, to wrap up the story arc with a 'flashback.' But...after reading through it, I decided it was too good. So here is the second part of Bra and Gohan, along with the inevitable confrontation between Gohan and Trunks...remastered, as it were. Enjoy, and please leave reviews, questions and comments!_

* * *

Gohan turned over the images, a puzzled look on his face.

"Look at the ki signature," Bra said patiently. Her face was sad, as if she were telling her lover the world itself was a mirage.

"It's a living thing?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered. "Look on the readout on the last page to compare with the records from Capsule's archives. It's...it's identical."

Gohan hesitated, then quickly flipped to the back. His eyes went out of focus after a moment, then they widened.

Bra waited for him to absorb everything. She kept her face carefully, perfectly still.

"He's back," Gohan whispered. Then louder, "My father...is back! Just as the oracles said!"

The Holy Daughter of the Throne closed her eyes, letting her long hair hide her face.

"...Where is he?" Gohan asked, his voice fevered and urgent. "Why hasn't-?"

"...'Why hasn't anyone seen him?'" Bra finished his question.

The tone of her voice made Gohan pause.

"I don't know how, but they are keeping him...keeping him in some sort of stasis. The outposts on Rikon Eight, Arjun's moon. The research Trunks has been talking about. I'm not sure how it works...It's keeping him frozen in place." Bra turned from him for a second, talking more to herself than to Gohan.

"The sheer amount of energy that has to be expended everyday to keep him frozen, and his ki hidden from detection-I am almost positive that this is the cause of the interruption of communication tech, the 'interstellar bouncing' coming from the Outer Quadrant. It's interference from whatever machine Trunks is using to imprison Son Gokou. There are fluctuations in the feed, at first with regularity and then less frequent. He...he may be trying to use _Shunkan Idou-_"

"How long have you known this?"

She stopped at the Firstborn's abrupt question. His words were hushed, and she realized that this was something she hadn't heard in a long time.

The sound of Son Gohan's anger.

"Not long," she lied. "I received this from an anonymous informant. But the date of these images...these date before Pan's attack. Well before."

The implication was clear. Wherever his father was, he had been there for at least half a year. _At least._

Silence.

"...What are you going to do?" Bra asked, a sound in her throat on the border of fear.

Gohan looked down for a moment, and when his eyes raised to meet Bra's again, she was sure they shone blood.

"I'm going to go to your brother, and give him one last chance to set things right. I am going to free my father. And when this is all over... I will take Trunks to the Council to answer for this...and for everything he has done."

Bra, panicked, shook her head and attempted to embrace him. "No, Gohan-"

"Trunks has betrayed us all, Bra! He has done something...beyond what even I thought he would be capable of. This empire, the manipulation...I thought he had his limits. But this...my father is out there, suffering!"

"There are other ways to do this. Just listen to me-"

But Gohan clenched his teeth so tight Bra thought they might crack.

"He has been out in space, in this 'stasis,' for months. Alive. Conscious. _Aware!_" He shook his head. "The Council of Chikyuu deserves to know-"

"Even if it destroys everything?" Bra yelled.

Gohan stopped, taking Bra's face into his hands. "If Father comes back, everything will be the way it was. Set back to rights." _To set the universe back to rights, _Trunks had said in the Council hearing, his smile dripping with malice. Gohan thought his rage would break the earth. He struggled with words, his grip on Bra becoming even softer.

"Aren't you tired, Bra?" Gohan asked. "Aren't you tired of all of this? The lies, Trunks' games and politics?"

"Gohan, please!" Desperation thrummed through her. She clung to his forearms. "We could leave, Gohan. We could leave Chikyuu. If you hate everything so much, we could go away! Start over...together."

But Gohan was too far gone. He was ignoring her now. "Trunks and Yamucha have lost their minds. What the hell were they...Why? _Why?!_ For more power? Is that all that matters to them now?!"

"Gohan-"

"I'll leave, see the Council on Serulia...No. I have to know for myself. I will find Trunks and Yamucha, make them look me in the eye and tell me why."

And now, as if on cue, the tears began to run down Bra's cheeks.

"You have to take me with you! To Serulia, Madran...Anywhere! I have a villa in the capital city on Serulia. Please, I can get my things ready...just give me one hour!"

"Bra," Gohan murmured, trying to maintain a gentle voice. "I can't take you with me."

Everything stopped.

"I cannot take you from Chikyuu. The moment-stop!"

But Bra was shaking her head, struggling with him, trying to hug him closer.

"No...no-no-no..."

"Please, just stop, listen!" Gohan said firmly. He pressed down on her hands, clutching them to his chest.

"The moment..." He took a breath. "The moment they find you missing, they will shut down all travel, on and off-planet. You said yourself: The security detail will be here tomorrow."

And just as quickly, a black surge of fury rolled inside of Bra. Fury, mixed with...something else.

"...Do you have **_any idea_**..." she started, voice trembling. "_**Any **__**idea...**of what he will do to me...if he finds out I told you all of this!?"_

"Bra, don't panic-"

"He will lock me away **_forever!_ **You don't understand! You don't know...Y_ou don't know how he is with me!_"

"I-" Gohan paused. He tried a calmer tone. "I'll come back for you. I promise. And you are still his sister. You know he would never hurt you. Just...just wait for me."

"...You'll...you'll come back for me." Her voice, tiny and so unlike her that Gohan's heart almost broke.

"Yes. When I come back for Videl."

Bra's face went numb and blank. At a loss, Gohan stiffly kissed her cheek, letting go of her fingers.

"I will be back. And after all of this is over, we...we will talk. I swear to you."

And with that, the Firstborn turned and leapt out of the window into the night.

Bra gazed down at her hands, still raised where her lover's chest had been. She didn't move. Not one inch.

* * *

"Not another bloody diplomat, not today."

Trunks waved dismissively at Yamucha shook his head, laughing.

"You are really not in the mood for this right now, are you?"

The Throne-son sighed. "There aren't a great many things that I am in the mood for lately."

The forfeiture of sovereignty on Serulia was slow in going, as their parliament hung on to whatever bureaucratic loopholes they could to retain some measure of power after the handover. _A monumental waste of energy,_ Yamucha thought. The very idea of coming under Chikyuu imperial rule in less than a month had to be burning in the minds of every Serulian, even the ones that would get rich off of the transition. The irony wasn't lost on the planet's high society: Serulia had 'offered' to make Chikyuu its protectorate after the Arjunian Invasion. What a difference twenty years could make.

Of course they would fight: Serulians were proud. But it was all for nothing. Trunks...Trunks and himself...they would rule Serulia. They would be the authority there. The only authority. The very last holdout of independent power in the galaxy. Everyone else would fall in the Pleasure Planet's wake, like dominoes. Just as intended.

"You know," Yamucha began. "I just want to say...I'm proud of you. I didn't think you would see it through."

Trunks looked up quizzically. "Serulia's been a thorn in Chikyuu's political side since all intergalactic relations started. We knew what had to be done. And we got it done."

"Not just that."

"What?"

"With the marriage." The Lord Secretary leaned back in his chair opposite the Throne-son. "My sources tell me that everything is...going well with you two. At last."

The fair-haired Saiyan hid a smirk. "I only half-expected you to have spies in our bedroom."

"I wouldn't be doing my job if I did not," Yamucha pointed out.

Trunks nodded in reply. "It was not as unpleasant as I thought it would be. As a matter of fact," he sighed, reaching for a nearby glass of brandy. "...It wasn't unpleasant at all."

"Perhaps married life is just what you needed. Not just for your image, but...for yourself, as well."

Trunks paused. Then he smiled. "I've...I've asked a lot of you, Yamucha. Sometimes too much, I think. But you've always been there for me. You've always been at the ready. You've walked a lot of red lines to make this possible."

And his mother's blue eyes met his, in a moment that made Yamucha's heart swell with pride, with relief, and with...something else. Something that a man like him shouldn't feel for a child that was not his blood. He looked away, a grin the only thing he would risk as his emotions overtook him.

There was a brief silence between the two men, after which Yamucha looked back to Trunks.

"Trunks..."

He trailed off at the look in the other man's eyes.

"...Do you feel that?" Trunks was saying, frowning and looking up at the ceiling.

"Feel wha-"

They both heard the crash before the ceiling began to crack and fall away, raining plaster all around them.

There was a slight ringing in his ears as he sat up from the floor, and Yamucha knew that whatever just happened, every alarm in the offices building was set off by it. Under his feet, guards would be mobilizing, headed for the emergency lift to-

"Gohan! What are you-!" Yamucha started.

"Data analyst Movahr." The voice was grave, deep, disemboweling.

Yamucha froze as he was pulling himself to his feet. The look on Son Gohan's face...

_Oh, hell._

Gohan stood on the pulverized remnants of the desk where Trunks had been seated. Trunks! Where was he?! Yamucha's eyes darted around the room until he found him, standing some distance away from both he and their intruder.

He didn't speak. Hadn't said a word in the tense moments after Gohan had come through roof and tile.

"Gohan, we don't know what you are talking—"

"Just stop it, Yamucha," Trunks cut in. "Look at his face."

Another long, quiet moment.

"What do you want?" Trunks asked simply.

Gohan sucked in a breath, and let his ki die down. His hair settled back into place, and the heat that had almost certainly risen every alarm in the hall faded. He walked closer, determined to talk in a low tone.

"In an hour, a shuttle leaves from West Capital Hangar 4, en route to a large carrier bound for Serulia."

"For the Arbatsu-jin Commerce Secretary, and his envoys to Serulia City," Yamucha noted, his voice hesitant.

"I've already had them informed to expect guests: Myself," said Gohan. "And Trunks."

While Gohan had let his power level fall, there was the slightest hint of a flare in his aura when he said the Throne-son's name aloud.

"We're going on a trip?" Trunks, who had also relaxed, tilted his head to the side. Yamucha knew that this—the Briefs boy playing the innocent, hapless inquisitor—was his way of mocking Gohan. Emulating Gokou. Rubbing salt into a fresh wound.

Yamucha also knew, looking again at Gohan, that this was a _very_ bad thing to do at the moment.

The Lord Secretary thought for a split second that the Firstborn had heard his thoughts, because by the time he raised his eyes again, he was nose to nose with Trunks.

"…You are going to tell the Council _everything_," he was saying. "About the Invasion, about your 'research' on Colony Eight. About keeping my father in stasis. _Everything._"

A door burst open, and guards poured in. Yamucha didn't have to turn to look at them to know they were scared. Because they had finally identified the source of monumental ki coming from the Throne-son's office.

And Trunks dropped his head, holding Gohan's gaze with his own.

"This is a very bad idea you are proposing, Gohan."

"Worse than keeping a man a prisoner for 20 years?"

"Listen to me," Yamucha said, turning to address the guards and attendants that had amassed near the double doors. "Who is your commanding officer?"

One soldier, a Madrani, stepped forward. He was young, and his terrified gaze never left the two Children behind him.

"Captain, I need you to get these people out of here...including your men. And when you leave...Captain!" The Madrani's eyes snapped to his. "When you leave, do not reenter this place, under any circumstances. Understood?"

"What is going to happen, do you think, when you drag me in front of the Council? Your father goes free? Everything is okay, everyone goes home!?" Trunks snapped.

"I will testify on your behalf…to allow everyone aligned with you two free passage out of Chikyuu. No one will suffer because of your crimes."

"…My 'crimes'…" echoed the Throne-son. He paused. "There are religious cults on Shikaji who believe Chikyuu-jin are cursed beings. More than thousands of people work for Capsule, both on and off-world."

"Yamucha will be given adequate time to square away your affairs when we are on Serulia," said Gohan. He sneered at the fair-haired Saiyan. "Capsule employees will be safe…although I doubt they are your main concern."

The last of the attendants and security personnel had been ushered from the scene when he had heard Gohan say his name. He walked back towards them, placing himself between the boys._ The situation has gone far enough out of control_, Yamucha thought.

"You still haven't learned to let go, have you Son Gohan?" Trunks pressed his lips into a thin line. "Son Gokou is better off a myth. And we are better off, without him."

The note in Gohan's voice told anyone within earshot that he was through with talking. "...You will come with me, Trunks. And once the Council is informed…you _will_ take me to where you are holding my father, and you _will _release him."

He turned on Yamucha, who had slowly moved to Trunks' side.

"The journey to Serulia takes 46 hours. You have 46 hours to put a temporary command structure in place…and leave Chikyuu. Unless you want to stand trial as well."

"Gohan," Yamucha began. "It will take more time than that. And Madran…Arbatsu…you don't understand."

"I have 'understood' you…too much, and for too long, Yamucha. You set up this false religion, I 'understood'. You took my daughter from me, I 'understood'."

His hand shot out from his side, grabbing the older man and lifting him until just the balls of his feet stayed on the ground.

"Now, understand _me_: You have 46 hours."

A force faster than Yamucha could see yanked him back, and his breath went out of him like a sieve.

"That's enough."

They looked like giants above him—above? Yamucha shook his head to clear the fog. He was on the floor, and Trunks was where he had stood moments before. His hand was locked around Gohan's wrist, unyielding.

The gleam in Gohan's eyes carried the promise of violence.

"Let me go, Trunks," came the low, calm voice.

"I didn't think you had it in you, hurting an old man."

"'Hurting'?" Even through the deep, red haze of his anger, Gohan paused. "I could've broken you both in half for what you have done!"

"But you have not," Trunks mused. "Is_ this_ the way Son Gohan fights his battles?"

The breath that left Gohan's lips was almost a snarl. He snatched his arm from Trunks' grasp.

"You think I won't go through with this? _You think that I'll back down!?_"

Trunks set his chin. "…I think you've been _backing down_ all your life."

The tiniest of moments, and a new pulse of rage-filled ki stung Yamucha's senses so badly his eyes squeezed shut. Then there was a gust of air…then nothing.

Opening his eyes, the Lord Secretary was being pulled to his feet. When Trunks was satisfied he had no wounds, the Saiya-jin turned in the direction that Gohan had left through the hole in the ceiling. Yamucha could make out a distant white streak in the cloudy sky.

"You beat him back once again," Yamucha said, finally finding his voice.

"No."

"What?"

Trunks turned away from the windows.

"He'll be back in an hour."

And a cold knot of dread laced itself into Yamucha's throat. "You can't go with him, Trunks. If he gets you off planet, it's all over."

"I won't be able to avoid it next time, Yamucha. Next time, he will find a place much more public. And…" Trunks broke off.

_And, Gohan will get you on that shuttle—even if it means beating you to a pulp,_ Yamucha finished his thoughts silently.

"Even if he takes you to the council, does everything he promised…" Yamucha pleaded. "He means blood, Trunks. Your blood."

Trunks held Yamucha's shoulders, facing him now. A small, sad smile was on his face. His eyes…Oh God of Gods, his mother's eyes…were full of fear.

"I'm going to Serulia, Yamucha."

"No, Trunks. NO. I lost the mother: I _won't_ lose the son!" The words came from Yamucha's mouth faster than he could stop them.

A moment's surprise took Trunks, but he shook his head to refocus.

"Take Pan and Bra, put them on shuttles and send them into Chikyuu orbit. Just in case. The rest of you, and Capsule's board members, are to go underground. Do exactly what Gohan said. We planned for this, remember? Stick with the plan."

_It was really happening_, Yamucha thought. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair. But things were falling apart. In minutes, everything they had built…

Trunks squeezed his arms, and gave him a shake. "'Stick with the plan.' Say it."

"...'Stick with the plan,'" Yamucha repeated.

Everything they had built. The worlds they saved. Their perfect planet. Billions of people. Her sweet, beautiful blue eyes.

It wasn't right.

But Trunks just gave him another heart-rending smile, and walked away.

* * *

_Next Chapter: "I am the blood of kings. And a king does not forgive. No...a king remembers."_


End file.
